One thing that no one mentions when you sign up for this thing called parenting is that the pain does not stop after the child has exited the vagina (or, as in the case of Charlie, the abdominal incision). No one tells you about things like molars. Orthodontia. Caillou and Dora. Prom.
That's right, bitchez. Your child, will, at some point, be statistically likely to go to a formal dance. And if your kid does not, PLEASE share your secrets with me so I can put them into play for the next two. Unless it involves things such as bullying or severe social anxiety. I'm pretty much not a fan of those kinds of things.
When your child goes to said formal dance, they will need clothes for it as it is generally frowned upon to go in your birthday suit. And not just any clothes...dear sweet mother of God, it has to be a dress. And one usually finds dresses in a store, which is in a mall. I fucking hate the mall with all the fiery passion I usually reserve for such things as Katy Perry's singing, food touching, and spring. This is where having boys would come in handy, cause I could just totally punt that off to Charles as being in his domain. I'm pretty sure, though, that as tolerant as that man is and despite the number of tea parties he has attended, wearing a crown no less, prom dress shopping is where he draws the line.
You know how I shopped for my prom dress? I put Elizabeth in her stroller, walked into JC Penny's, and found a cream colored plain dress within 10 minutes. It fit, was simple, and I did not have to venture any further into the mall for it. Plus it was like $30. The entire ordeal took me less than 45 minutes.
I'm not what you would call a girly girl.
It has never been that simple with Elizabeth. Now mind you, she has attended prom every year of high school so far. I try not to think about that fact too hard, but I figure her prom dresses are cheaper than the dance I pay for for her sisters, so it's really hard to complain. (Word of advice...encourage your child to play the less expensive sports.) That and I tend to be a sucker for my children...not that they are spoiled, as they most definitely are not, but I do try to make special occasions, well, special for them. So I begrudgingly get in the car and take her dress shopping.
She has learned from past experiences, I think, and did not attempt to drag me to the mall. For which I am eternally grateful because I don't think I could have handled that today as I had dress rehearsal for competition with the little girls and I was already high on the fumes from hairspray and whatever chemicals sequins and feathers emit. I would have put this off, but a.) I work 7 days/week, and b.) I completely get the anxiety she would have had because prom is almost two months away and dear GOD, what if she did not find a dress? I can appreciate that kind of anxiety cause I live it myself daily. However, she did drag me to a store 2 hours away. That had literally thousands of dresses.
Holy fucking shit, my ADHD kicked in big time. I was like a 10 month old baby who was completely overstimulated and just did not know what to do and was running on fumes and completely unable to be soothed. There were so many dresses. They started looking alike after a while. Thankfully, we brought her date, a friend, and my sister with us because had it just been the two of us, this might have been a disaster rivaling the decision to allow me to be on the Internet unsupervised.
We decided against the $700 dress. Seven. Hundred. Fucking. Dollars. For a prom dress. My wedding dress cost half that. That's almost my fucking mortgage. Just...FUCK. That being said, we did not spend anywhere near that amount. But it was still painful. Maybe not to the point of requiring an epidural, but damn. Some Xanax would have been nice. Or a shot at least. A bullet to bite on perhaps?