For those of you who know me in real life you know I am the furthest thing from a fashion diva. Apparently I have screwed up somewhere along the way (well, hell I coulda told ya that--shut up, no more voices!) and God has given me a child that goes against every fashion feeling I have.
The Girl is a DIVA. There, I've said it; it's true. The other day we were shopping for shoes. We were all getting some sandals, flip flops, ya know, summery types of things. So we picked out The Boy's new tennis shoes, he goes through them so quickly, all the super hero action duties take their toll on shoes, and sandals and flip flops and The Girl all the while was trying on sandals. Not cute little flowery things, low to the ground or anything--her goal with shoes is something with a heel that makes noise and if it's sparkly, bring it on. She ended up with sparkly metallic purple sandals with a low heel and some flip flops.
Then I started looking at shoes. My goal with shoes is that they are comfortable and not horribly ugly. The Girl tried to up my style quotient and brought out all kinds of stuff for me to try on. Two-inch heels, yeah, great market shoes there kid, plastic see through heels with lights in them, glitter covered heels, etc. It was pretty funny. I settled on some low comfortable shoes and she just shook her head and I could almost hear the tsk tsking and eye rolling.