Saturday, February 23, 2013

Dress me up (like a), baby

Whenever I shop at Target I get distracted.  This is not the ADD working.  This is the evil Sith Lord that is the Target Corporation.  I don't think it matters if you have crushing ADHD and are popping Ritalin like Chicklets or if you're a steady-headed, personal organizer to Martha Stewart, Target is gonna eat you up and suck the very marrow from your bones.  Dare you to walk in for a new mop head and walk out with only a new mop head.  Consider the gauntlet thrown, dear readers!  (If, by the way, you take me up on this challenge, I will require a proof of purchase and cash register receipt with your credit card info x-ed out.  What will you win, you ask?  Well, I do have this terrier that looks like Sam Elliot.)

As I was shopping for large quantities of bottled water for my daughter's rescheduled party (yes, I'm aware that bottled water is evil.  Not Dark Side evil, but pretty close.  I'm sure this won't be the final straw in failing my Jedi training.), when I decided to look for underwear and pajamas and rain gear for the kids.  Say what you will about big box stores - and I've railed against Walmart (sorry, sweet niece if you're reading) - but I'm a sucker for Target's kid clothes. 

The following is what happened:

  • I trolled the aisles of the girls section for pajamas.  I didn't find anything springy or cheap enough (because I'm a skinflint, people), but I did hold up a pair of XL fleece pants and considered buying them for myself.  They were too big.
  • I wandered into the little kids section even though technically my kids are too big/old/mature for these clothes.  Here, I found the perfect summer beach dress for my daughter, who at 9 can still wear a size 5 because she is my reincarnated mother (who only weighed over 100 when she got pregnant).  Then, I noticed how many dresses I adored in the little kids section and even muttered to myself, 'That.  Is.  So.  Cute.'  At which point, nervous parents scooted away from me and held their babies closer.  Mind you, I wasn't looking objectively at these garments for my own kids.  I wasn't hypothesizing that these outfits would look mah-velous on that baby my husband wants me to have that is never going to happen.  I was looking at them with this going on in my head:  'Hey.  That would look awesome on me!'
Here's what I'm talking about, lest you think I actually was sane:

You know I could work this.

I like to draw shit.

Totally adorable for a middle-aged mom.

Weeeeeeeeeeee!

I like to wear cliches on my sleeve, or chest.
So, maybe you don't think that's too crazy.  You are a dear.  Thank you.

Then I saw this.

Damn, baby, who's taking YOU to the Oscars?
That is a dress for an infant.  And I want it.  If a baby can show off her chunky upper arms, why can't I?

This became a sobering moment for me.  I realized that a.) I don't often buy new clothing for myself and that b.) I want to dress like a toddler.  When my husband took his current job as a college administrator, my first thought was damn, I do not dress like a dean's wife.  I cannot attend cocktail parties with the other spouses.  You're going stag, dear.  Now, my husband wears his red Chucks to work with a blazer and a sweater, so he also dresses like a toddler.

Once I realized that my fashion sense stopped at Garanimals, I left the Target baby section, checked out and bought myself a Tall Mocha at the Starbucks counter to feel just slightly more like an adult.

It didn't work.