Disclaimer: I am not a parent to anything with two legs. All statements written here are those of someone who is smart enough to know she is ill-equipped for the challenges of parenting another human being. BUT, is absolutely armed with the knowledge to judge the skill set of others. Sense of humor and grain of salt required for reading the following post.There I was in Fresh Market (Year 2010: Week 4: Visit 2) cruising around throwing overpriced pita chips, chicken salad and chutney in my basket - all while shooting their complimentary hazelnut coffee with Hood creamer. Hell, yes. It was a good day...
After I hit the final frontier (the dairy aisle) and loaded up on my $2.00 Greek yogurt, I spotted an older woman making THE most hideous face of disgust. What could it be?
Was her bourbon salmon looking suspect? Out of organic eggs? Did she realize her raspberry pillow cookies were going to be near impossible to peal apart- which will undoubtedly force her to eat two cookies every time? (No, I do not know that from experience. I've just heard that's what happens...)
And then I spotted her - the cause of such a look.
Approximately 3 1/2 feet tall, fleece lined crocks bedecked and bedazzled with those giblets - or whatever they are, butterflies embroidered on her blue jeans with a sparkly matching tee...she looked like a lot of other four or five year old little girls. Painted nails, ring, bracelet and pierced ears - did give her an air of sophistication (or a whiff of tartlet in the making - depending on where you fall down on these things...)
Then I gazed upon the bright blue passie in her mouth. And I was riveted.
My eyes immediately went to her mother, who I was prepared to look like a disaster. Obviously, someone who had stopped fighting the good fight and was just worn out by her minis.
Nope. She was as fresh as the morning dew. With a killer Marc Jacobs bag, might I add.
I was thoroughly perplexed. And extremely curious (read: obsessed) so I just happened to find myself in the same checkout lane. Fancy that!
FYI...Children either love me or want nothing to do with me. I mean I'm not Mrs. Oleson,but I ain't Miss Beadle either.
I'm
so glad I wore my big girl Chanel sunnies to the store and
KJL enamel bangles, because this little girl recognized a kindred gypsy spirit and immediately removed her passie to chat me up.
Excellent.
Little girl: "I have mani-coor."
Me: "Ohhh! I love your sparkly pink nails. So fun!"
LG: "Look at my ring. It's pink too."
Me: "So fabulous!"
LG: "It's like your ring..."
Before I burst her little bubble with, "No, honey - I had to dig through ten trays of crappy jewelry from an estate to find this bad boy. And had to spoon feed it to my then boyfriend, who proceeded to tell me he wasn't ready to buy a ring - even if it was the perfect ring, a great deal and only in his best interest - AND even if it meant he could sit on it for a few months, maybe a year."
No, baby girl - I had to work hard for this bauble.
LG: "I have a passie."
Me: "Indeed."
Out of the corner of my eye I watched to see if mum flinched. Or got flustered. Nope.
So let me get this straight - you let your little girl have her nails painted, wear jewelry, have pierced ears AND let her rock the passie in public. Just seemed ridiculous.
Let me reiterate, I have ZERO parenting experience but, I can assure you if my mini Mrs. News Readin' understands what a manicure is and acutually has one - her passie is a very distant memory.
It took EVERYTHING in my being to not throw out my dollar's worth of two cents. Something along the lines of, "Big girls have manicures, but usually not passies."
Succint, yet powerful.
LG: "You're pretty."
And with that - I realized that this child was wise beyond her years. Brilliant, even.
Who cares if she takes that passie to college? I took my prom picture. My roommate brought coke. It's all about feeling "at home..." Right?
Yet another shining example of why I am ill-equipped to manage a mini. Sigh.
Stay tuned. More at 11.
xoxo,
Mrs. News Readin'
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