I've never claimed to have any fashion sense. As summer approaches, I typically stock up on white T-shirts, black T-shirts, and navy blue T-shirts. As winter approaches, I typically stock up on white turtlenecks, black turtlenecks, and navy blue turtlenecks. I'll typically pair my shirts with jeans, or with black pants or navy pants, or sometimes with khakis for a change of pace.
The other day my 8-year-old took me in hand. I was purging my closet of clothes that I no longer wear. She sat on my bed, a pint-sized autocrat, rolling her eyes and making snide comments. "Did you wear that to work on a farm, Mommy?" Or, "I guess you could keep that, if you promise you'll only wear it to paint the house."
Finally, in complete disgust, she demanded to take me shopping, and she demanded that I promise to try on and buy whatever she said. I am bigger than she is, and I control the credit cards, and she is in second grade and still happily wears outfits with clashing patterns, so I didn't agree to everything. But it was Mother's Day, and it sounded like fun, so I agreed to put myself in her hands, and we went shopping.
Normally, she doesn't have the world's longest attention span. And normally she's not a big fan of shopping unless it's for her. But not that day. We shopped for an hour, stopped for lunch, and then went back to the store and put in another hour. Without exaggeration, she had me try on 50 things.
I vetoed the shirts with enormous cabbage rose patterns and flappy things on the sleeves that looked like butterfly wings, and I vetoed everything in a shade I call "pinky tan," which I hate. But I bought nine new things that day. There was a red shirt, a couple of pink ones, two aqua things, a purple, and a yellow, and some more stuff. There were two things I might have picked out on my own, but most of them were in styles I wouldn't have even thought to try on.
So the day was an unmitigated success, and my daughter was an unmitigated success, but now she is flush with her newfound power. She wants another day with me, because she'd still like to deal with my pants and shoes, and she's disappointed that I didn't buy a dress. I can't decide if my future looks good, now that I have a personal shopper of my very own, or if I should be terrified.
