When last we spoke, I was bemoaning my inability to shop for little frilly things.
Oh silly silly woman.
On Saturday, the Roo-girl and I went to the mall. (Eek -- a Saturday during the holiday-shopping madness? Were we crazy? Um yes.)
We were there legitimately. My BFF's sons were playing in a holiday concert. In tuxes. It was a sight we couldn't miss.
In the meantime, however, Roo still had gift cards burning a hole in her pocket. And Victoria's Secret had sent me a $10 off coupon for my birthday (tomorrow -- all together now: Happy birthday, Janet! Aw shucks, thank you.)
So we went. And we shopped. And we giggled. And we shared some dreadful banana split concoction from Haagen Dazs. Together.
I have not had a day like that with her since she turned 14 and went to the dark side.
We were all over the mall, but it was Vicki's place that did it for me.
We both happen to love love love Vicki underwear (and by the way, I hate hate hate the word panties -- *shudder*). Her Roo-ness prefers a thong (kill me now), while I prefer a more lady-like bikini.
So the two of us picked through the underwear trays.
Really, there is no better bonding experience than shopping for underwear with your teen. But I digress.
I picked out four for me and graciously allowed my young lady to pick out one for herself.
(Judge us not. Vicki underwear is 5 for $25 -- and with my $10 coupon clutched firmly in my hand, I knew that we would score our fave raves for a bargain $3 apiece.)
The point of my tale today, however, is not the underwear table, nor is it to see how many parenthetical phrases I can cram into one post (six so far -- uh, make that seven).
It is, however, the moment we both laid eyes on "the jacket."
The jacket was really "just" a sweatshirt hoodie.
However, every square inch of this thing was covered in silver sequins. The Roo and I nearly collapsed with laughter, but we couldn't take our eyes off it, either.
"That is ridiculous," Roo snorted.
"Try it on," I urged, bringing out my inner 14-year-old girl. "I'll take your picture!"
"Ok," she giggled. "But please, in the dressing room, ok???"
Even in the face of the blindingly unsubtle, the child is the essence of "please don't embarrass me in public, mom."
But in the privacy of the dressing room? All bets were off.
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