shopping used to be fun

We have a wedding this weekend and I’m still wearing the same tired, uninspiring ensembles from 1998. Maybe they’re not that old. Or maybe they’re even older. So this morning I dragged the kids to go dress and shoe shopping. Isn’t that a fantastic idea? I like to live the adventure of waiting until the very last minute to shop for things I must try on, that I must buy, because without these sparkling purchases, I’d be the one wallowing the wedding away in clothes even pre-possessed, oops I mean pre-styled Katie Holmes wouldn’t wear.


Taking my babies shopping is…ooh…is sado-masochism the right word? Stella could have slept the whole time in the stroller but she preferred to scream her head off only to be consoled when I removed her from the stroller and carried her around with me, which is really a joyous way to search the clearance aisle. She loves grabbing pretty silk dresses right off the hangers and stuffing them in her mouth. She also stopped crying if I set her free among the innocent shoppers and racks of discount designer dresses. Hamish even got scolded by the mean puffy-haired lady with the painted on eyebrows for playing hide and seek in the dress racks. Wasn’t she ever three? I wanted to hand the kids to her for the morning right there and then.

Hamish hates being scolded or criticized by anyone other than me, not that he jumps for joy when it is me, but at least he knows it’s coming sooner or later, and I don’t blame him. People can be so cold. Especially me, when I’m trying to shop with my kids and they're not perfectly content to sit like catatonic nursing home residents. I try so hard to remember that they’re so very young, when Hamish is compelled to twist himself in the dressing room curtain so anyone who cares to can catch an eyeful of my naked torso. I try so hard to be patient when Stella stiffens herself into a board, wailing as I try to fold her into the stroller.

Every impatient, harried, throbbing cell was as much on display as the marked down Max Studio graphic print kimono dresses. I alternately apologized and scowled my way through every department, searching strangers’ eyes for either hostility or compassion. Rescue me or dare to criticize my parenting style! You can never win! And then at the 9 West outlet, with the Blowout Sale, it was my turn to torture the children. I think I got them good, too, plus the rest of the customers and the poor sales clerk.

Four pairs of metallic sandals later, I’m set for dresses and shoes for the next decade.

Thanks kids.