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Name: margalit
Location: Massachusetts, United States Professional writer, educational advocate, opinionated ultra liberal mother of 18 year old twins, living life in the slow lane due to hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, congestive heart failure, and diabetes.

email: margalitc at yahoo dot com

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Wednesday, September 05, 2007

It's been one of THOSE days

We had a lot to do after the long weekend, especially with school starting tomorrow.

The girl woke me up early to get ready to take her to the library in the neighboring town, and then we had to stop at a second place to check out a purse she wanted to buy herself. They didn't have it, so she bargained with me so that I'd take her to the same store, different branch. The one right by BU. On Comm Ave. Next to the Paradise. Which was unloading equipment for some band. Right next to both WFNX and WBCN broadcasting on the street and littering the neighborhood with flyers and decals. Nice. You know the college students are young when even you daughter says "They look so young" and she's only 15. And of course, she ran into someone she knew. That kid knows the whole world.

On the way back home we have a few quick stops to make, quick being the optimum word. Gas, a stop at Petco for some special food for Worthless Pet who is having urinary issues, and a second stop at Marshalls for the Girl to find something to wear to the funeral on Friday. She has nothing even remotely funereal. No little black dress. No dark clothing other than jeans.

This should have been a quick trip. But it was a two hour trip through hell. She does not like her hips. She is very curvy and has a lovely and womanly shape. She hates it. HATES IT. She wants to be straight up and down. Everything slightly clingy on her makes her look curvy and that's exactly the look she's rejecting.

She hates dresses. The dresses in style right now are all very, um, revealing. Halter tops, spaghetti straps, etc. Not really good for a funeral, especially in bright cheery colors. We find some black and white prints that would be fine, but nope, she hated them all. One was definately workable but she rejected it.

Then we looked at skirts. I found a skirt that she deemed acceptable and it fit nicely. It went up to the waist, and flared out in a gored swirl towards the bottom. In black. Very good choice.


But the tops. Oh my God, the angst over the tops. She doesn't like the flirty little empire waist tops because she says they make her look pregnant. Well, they make Mischa Barton and Paris Hilton look pregnant too, and they're both sticks. But there is no talking to her about this. She decides she wants a sweater. I try to remind her it's still summer and the funeral is going to be VERY crowded, etc. She wants a sweater. Fine. We pick out a nice gray v-neck sweater that will work well, and will also look good with jeans. But it needs a cami, and she doesn't have a good black cami, and a black beater isn't going to look right. So we find a nice black cami in the 'undergarments' section.




She then gets it into her little brain that she needs Spanx to hold in her curves. At this point I'm about ready to lay down on the floor of Marshalls and take a nap, I'm so tired of dealing with her. She looks at every freaking pair of foundation garments they have, and discusses them all with me. My eyes are glazing over and I'm thinking why anyone that wears a size 4 NEEDS foundation garments is beyond me. But it's her money and I don't have the strength to argue.



She picks out what to me would be called a panty girdle. This is what she wants. I roll my eyes around so much I'm afraid they will fall out of my head, but I'm so anxious to get the hell out of Marshalls that I agree they're Perfect! I am quite the liar when I need to be.

We get home, she marches upstairs, there's silence for about 10 minutes, and then she comes stomping downstairs. "I'm returning everything but the skirt. Give me the receipt. I'm going right now." She insists she must get to Marshalls or she will explode. I hand over the receipt but tell her that I'm not driving her, to which she replies, "That's fine. I'm so mad I need to walk. Those THINGS you picked out are ridiculous. I have rolls where I've never had rolls."

And she stomps off.

Did you get what she said? It's MY fault. Again. Just call me Mommy Punching Bag.

I cannot even fathom what she's going to come back with next, but she needs a top for that skirt and she rejected everything I suggested. Because, you know, I'm just a stupid old person that wears tie dye shirts and jeans and isn't a fashion maven like she is.

Blackbird. Do you want a daughter? I think she would like you more than she likes me. Evidentally my taste sucks.

(I didn't even get to mention the silver lame purse that we had to go all over creation to find, did I?)

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4 Comments:

Blogger Keely said...

Wow. I sure am looking forward to this in about 13 years. Not! Well, I sort of am. :)

5/9/07 10:30 PM  
Blogger Robin said...

Teenagers really can suck sometimes.

My honest to god biggest parenting fear is getting to teenagers just like my husband and I both were. Both. They're getting the genetics from both sides. I'm sunk. Sunk I tell you.

6/9/07 5:08 AM  
Blogger Single Mom Seeking said...

Just found you thanks to Amy at Your-Jewish-Mother.com. I'm so glad that I did!... I commented on your entry there. Very bold. Thank you for such an open, feeling post.
Please stay in touch.

6/9/07 9:18 AM  
Blogger Chris said...

Here via blogmad, but I'm hoping the people that come to my funeral give 1/10th the thought about what they wear as she did, LOL.

6/9/07 6:23 PM  

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