When my kids were in highschool I would cruise the Starbucks hoping I could catch them cutting class, fuel up on caffeine, and offer fashion critiques. This was published in September of 2012
Dear Mother of the Teenage Girl in Starbucks,
I know you are doing the best you can as a mom. And trust me, I can’t stand Mom on Mom hate and snark because we are all doing the best we can. I know you are doing a stellar job because your daughter seems bright, healthy and happy. Good for you! And in this devilish economy, I know you are working hard to provide for her, too. This mom thing isn’t an easy gig and looking after the sprogs is a fulltime job in and of itself without factoring in keeping a full time job outside of the home, keeping up with other kids, maybe a partner/spouse and the whole house/garden thing. Phew! I’m tired thinking about it.
Anyhow, I just bet your daughter has at the very least three dozen super cute outfits from Forever 21, Express and Anthropologie. I can also just guess something like this transpired when she asked for at least thirty two of those outfits (I was once a teenaged girl): “OMG MOM I HAVE TO HAVE THIS AND IF YOU DON’T BUY IT FOR ME I WILL DIE!!!!!!!!eleventy” Wash, rinse and repeat at least twenty or so times in Steve Madden, Nordstrom’s shoe department and Nine West.
It’s a shame all she could peel off her bedroom floor Wednesday morning were those tiny bootie shorts–she bought with her own money for a sleep over two years ago because you would never buy something creepy for your daughter–with the word “juicy” splashed across her ass, her little brother’s Hanes white undershirt, and a pair of shearling bedroom slippers.
You might want to give her a heads up on her wardrobe choice because I have it on good authority from a twenty year old and a sixteen year old who are experts at staring at and judging young women in their age group: “I hate it when girls wear their jammies to school, it’s ridiculous.” As is “make up put on with a trowel.” Those are direct quotes from the sixteen year old.
The sixteen year old who, by the way, can’t be bothered with a belt and is constantly hitching his pants up before they fall to his thighs. His belts are buried under a pile of dirty (?) clothes on his bedroom floor.
We moms’ all have our crosses to bear; yours is a lovely daughter who wears her jammies in public and mine is sons wearing pants sizes too big. At least your girl doesn’t have me scratching my head in awe and wonder, trying to figure out if that’s a skirt or a belt she’s wearing.
With fond regards, ( let’s do lunch sometime and buy our kids belts and some decent shoes for school. Or let’s not waste our money and buy ourselves cute outfits at Anthropologie and shoes at Steve Madden. )
PS: feel free to ask either one of my sons to put on a belt or pull up their pants. You’ll be doing a public service if you do.