To celebrate Taylor's 20th birthday, she and I spent the day together doing girlie stuff like buying bras and eating. I always enjoy spending time with my favorite (and only) daughter despite the fact that we were doing one of my least favorite activities. Shopping. At the mall. On a Saturday.
When we spotted this uber tacky redneck truck in the parking lot, I decided that I don't ever want to live in a state where a sight like this isn't commonplace. We're not a classy bunch, but these are my people.
Taylor wanted to get a couple of pairs of jeans which I knew would involve a trip to Hollister. I generally don't enjoy Hollister because the music is so loud I can't hear myself think and the employees, whose average age appears to be 14, are less than helpful. Or maybe I'm just bitter because I can't fit into any of their clothes.
We struck out this time because Hollister didn't have any jeans in Taylor's size, which is 00. That's double zero. And yes, it's a real size. The challenge of finding jeans in that size is compounded by the fact the she needs 00L. That's double zero long. And yes, you can sometimes find that size if you walk into the right store at just the right time and all the planets have lined up in your favor.
Evidently the jean gods were smiling on us today because after stopping at a couple of more stores we had scored 2 pairs of jeans. We went to a store I'd never heard of before called Forever 21. I loved their decor, lots of chandeliers and candelabras done in a casual way, and their clothes were as cute as can be. The store is huge and caters, obviously, to those who are Taylor's age and size. The clothes are cheap and probably not very well made but it looks like a good place to buy fun stuff that you can treat as disposable.
Taylor had a gift card from Victoria's Secret to spend and wanted to get a couple of new bras. She wasn't even sure what size to get so we just guessed, she tried them on, they fit perfectly and I was pissed. Not at Taylor but at the forces of nature that have been so unkind to me over the past several years. Okay, snack cakes are probably as much to blame as the forces of nature for part of that, but not all of it.
I can't remember the last time I just picked up a bra off the rack, tried it on and it actually fit. I need to write a letter to bra manufacturers encouraging them to accommodate those of us who need options other than just the standard sizes that bras come in. I'm not talking about super large or super small...those areas are well covered. I'm not even talking about those who are between cup sizes. Some bra makers have figured out that A, B, C, D, etc. won't cover it so they offer A/B, B/C, C/D, etc.
But there are those of us out there (please, God, let there be more than just me) who are even more breasticularly challenged and would benefit from some kind of modular bra situation. I would like to be able to buy each bra component separately: the left cup, the right cup, and the strap configuration that I want. Then I want to assemble those pieces into a lovely, yet supportive undergarment that is both functional and comfortable. How hard can that be??
That's probably a million dollar idea and I'm throwing it out there for free. Now somebody take it, run with it, make it a reality, then send me the free bra of my choice. I won't tell you exactly what size I need, but if you know the name of the band who released Back in Black in 1980, you're on the right track.
We topped off our shopping excursion with a trip to Sephora where we both needed to pick up a few things. I don't wear a lot of makeup and I'm perfectly happy with cheap, drugstore brands for everything except one item: blush. About 10 years ago, after a long history of tragic blush mistakes, I finally stumbled upon the perfect color for me. It's not too pink, not too brown, not too frosty, not too dark...it's perfect. It's made by Nars and the color is called Orgasm. I don't question it, I just buy it.
I was standing at the Nars display reading all the blush names over and over and over and nearly working myself up into a panic because there was no Orgasm. Cosmetic companies are notorious for discontinuing my favorite colors and I was afraid that was what had happened. As I turned to grab the nearest saleslady and demand she find me an Orgasm, I caught sight of the "Orgasm Collection" and my knees buckled with relief. When their Orgasm blush became such a big seller, Nars made several other products to match so now there's a whole collection worthy of its own display in the store.
I grabbed my Orgasm, checked out and Taylor and I headed out for lunch. As we were leaving the mall I had two thoughts. One is that it isn't so bad shopping with Taylor because it's like dressing my own personal Barbie doll. The other thought I had was that since I hate the mall and avoid it at all costs, I probably should have bought multiple Orgasms.
Taylor wanted Texas Roadhouse for lunch which suited me just fine since I'd been eating healthy all week and was bored with it. I got the sirloin kabobs which aren't exactly healthy, but I got rice and vegetables for the sides which is better than the chili cheese fries I usually get so I felt pretty good about that.
I tried, and failed, to get Taylor to make the cupcake face so I could take a picture of it. I asked her if she wanted me to make her some cupcakes and she gave me this adorable look that made me want to buy her a car. But every time I asked her to repeat it she started laughing so you'll just have to trust me on how dang cute that look was.
At some point during the meal, the conversation turned weird when Taylor said, "Mom, why did you make me go to cotillion?" I explained to her that I didn't "make" her go, she agreed to go...only because she really didn't know what it was. I would never force something so heinous on my child without her permission. Besides, it wasn't real cotillion. It was like junior cotillion for 5th and 6th graders. I thought it would be good for her to learn ballroom dancing and manners and etiquette and other important crap like that.
Fortunately she was not scarred by her cotillion experience, she was simply reminded of it as she watched me butter my Texas Roadhouse roll incorrectly. She said I should tear a bite sized piece from the roll, butter that piece then eat it. Then tear another bite sized piece, butter it and eat it. My method of slathering half the roll with butter, biting off the buttered part then rebuttering what's left, was incorrect yet I felt it was much more efficient. When I asked Taylor what else she remembered from cotillion she said she remembered which direction you're supposed to pass the salt. I told her that since it was just the two of us, it was probably okay to just pass it over the top of the bucket of peanuts on our table. Yeah, that was money well spent.
We topped off our day by stopping at the library to return some things and check out some more. A few of my writing friends were there and I was glad to be able to introduce them to Taylor since I talk about her all the time. We visited for a few minutes, commenting on how glad we all were that Will wasn't there that day since he insists he's going to marry Taylor even though they've never met. It's creepy really. Okay, maybe I'm the one who keeps telling Will that he needs to marry Taylor but that's just because he's a nice young man. And every time I say "nice young man" it sounds like I'm 85 years old and he's a loser, neither of which is true. He's just a nice guy and will be a good catch for someone as soon as he gets a job.
I can't remember what else we talked about but it wasn't until I mentioned the cupcake face that Taylor reminded me that it was time to go. She wasn't embarrassed that I'd been trying to marry her off to a perfect stranger, but apparently the cupcake face crossed the line.
After we got home I thought it was best that Will was reluctant to commit to her (even though I've offered to take care of everything, all he has to do is show up for the wedding) when I saw this picture on Taylor's Facebook wall. Yeah, it's gross, but it just cracks me up the way Barbie is smiling and holding up that bottle like she's doing a commercial for floor cleaner.
Then I remembered how I always call Taylor my Barbie doll because of her size and when you combine that with the picture and Taylor's slightly "off" parents, I guess it can look a little frightening from Will's perspective. Or anyone's really. Maybe I should actually make her those cupcakes now.