And the Shoes

Margaret has been developing certain sartorial habits which I find difficult to approve.  For example, a few weeks ago, I was putting a red shirt on her, and she said “No.  Pink shirt.  On.” 

Inside, I died a little.

It’s not that I have anything against pink.*  What I do object to is the theory that little girls must wear pink at every moment of every day as long as they live.  And that said pink attire must be emblazoned with slogans to which I object.  Gymboree’s mistake in that department caused me to consider trying to get one of my more artistic friends to cooperate to design a line of girls t-shirts that don’t buy into the idea that girls are supposed to be ornamental and nothing else.** 

Anyway, imagine my chagrin when Margaret learned to identify pink, and then to demand it.

And then the other morning, she not only got a pink shirt – well, pink-ish – but she decided to dress her jeans up with a pair of heels.

Luckily, she was tippy enough in the shoes that she had to walk slowly, and I got a picture.

And then, just to add a final straw to my camelious back***, I tried to get her interested in putting lotion on her poor, dry skin by letting her see that I do it when I wear makeup, and now she’s taken to demanding that I put on makeup.  There’s nothing more depressing than getting beauty tips from a toddler.  Particularly ones that are more or less justified.

*All right, I do.  I don’t really like it and I never have.  But I have no objection to other people wearing it.  My mother wears it all the time, and I still speak to her.  Most of the time.

**Allie, if you see this and you’re interested, give me a call.  I've got another possible collaborative project as well.  And yes, I could send an email or call or something, but I’m writing this now and thinking of it, and I’m having a baby in the next month, which causes me to be both busy and scatterbrained.

***I know, my hump is on the wrong side, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t feel like a camel.  Just now, it crossed my mind that I should be organizing baby clothes instead of writing blog posts for you, and I looked that thought firmly in the eye and said “humph” to it.