I've been falling behind on my laundry lately. I planned to do some last night, then I noticed the towel hamper was filled, so I did that instead. This created some minor trauma, since my daughter neeeeeded to wash her khakis for school. Then I realized she just did laundry on Sunday - three days ago.
Odd, I was positive I spent several hundred dollars on clothing when school began. Surely, she had enough to get through a five day week.
Apparently all the fine clothing I purchased became unacceptable, in favor of two special pairs of corduroy pants.
I probably should've noticed that sooner. There's a school dress policy, so the pants can only be black or khaki. This makes it difficult to discern which pair is which. To me. The Mom. Obviously, my daughter knows exactly which pair is her favorite.
Then the wave of bad junior high memories washed over me. The pair of Sergio Valentes that fit the bum just right. The vintage t-shirt that was worn out in all the right places. The Nikes that had the proper amount of smudgies. The favorite pair of undies that didn't wedge. Well, actually, that still applies - but I certainly don't wear the same pair daily.
The point is, I really do understand having that favorite pair of jeans, sweater, sneakers or undies..... and this is even more urgently felt in the teen years. I get that.
But.
Woe, I am old now. This means I cannot reconcile the favorite pair of pants, with the amount of money spent on the whole lot.
I made a strong (and possibly cranky) suggestion to wear something else. Preferably a warm ensemble, since it was going to be 20 degrees with a wind chill near zero.
The next morning, she came downstairs in a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts and boots.
Well then. After some actual long pants were procured from the bottom of the closet, she tells me "other girls are wearing shorts and boots".
Oh yes. Those "other" girls that must look like a stiff version of The Crocodile Hunter in Uggs, once their legs succumb to hypothermia.
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