A dinner at Chick Fil A followed by a trip to JC Penney. Yes- we really are THAT fancy.
Now- if you know me, or happen to be one of my children, you know that trips to the mall to shop are few and far between. We typically manage to have most of what we need passed down from dear friends or I have been picking it up here and there at yard sales or plucking it off clearance racks. But this year, there were a few holes in the kids Fall/Winter wardrobes that needed addressed. So armed with my fancy schmancy $10 coupons- we headed in.
Which brings me to the point of this whole thing. Underwear. Allyson needed some.
Somehow in my partially demented mind, I thought I was just the woman to shop for it with her. Except, she no longer can wear the small fruit of the loom packs with Dora on them. Which means one thing- we must go to the WOMENS department.
I suppose I hadn't realized how trashy undergarments had gotten. I mean, I'm
We began browsing the racks, the whole time Allyson has her arms crossed over her chest with her 'scouring' face on because she is MORTIFIED that she is even IN the underwear department let along shopping for HERSELF. You can only imagine the response I got when I held a pair up to her rear end to check for size- you'd have thought I was electrocuting her.
On a side note- I almost asked the attendant to measure her bra size just because I was feeling a tad evil. But I didn't. I'm saving that for some other lesson teaching opportunity.
As we walked from rounder to rounder I was surprised by the names of these products. Flirtageous- really? Young woman need to wear something called THAT? But then- I began trying to find something (anything) appropriate and I realized that I was fighting a battle. A BIG one. Occasionally I would find something I thought was okay. You know- normal bikini underpants, plain color, SANS straps, lace panels, or sheer sections- only to hold it up to show Allyson and discover a huge CUTIE PIE or some equally obnoxious saying painted across the heiny.
I was gasping. Openly. Clutching my head, scowling, piercing my lips. At one point I think I broke out in hives. Then we meandered over to the bra section. Where Allyson holds up a chartreuse colored number and asks about it. I promptly said no. She seemed sincerely confused. It was padded with cheetah print lining. WHAT THE HELL MANUFACTURING COMPANIES!
I'm telling you this. We are going to continue this quest at Target and it is my hopes that they offer something simple, plain and modest for a young woman to wear. Otherwise- I'm going to hold a protest of my own and it is going to involve animal print thongs and lace bras................and lighter fluid.
**** Disclaimer*****No children were physically harmed in the actual shopping trip. Except Sam who may or may not have fallen off of a rack when he was trying to show us where he thinks BALLS would go in a scary womanly gertle contraption. Only emotional damage and trauma were inflicted on my children and innocent bystanders as I screamed and ran in circles shouting things about modesty and being lady like. And for the record- Emily would have totally picked the Smurf panties last time we went shopping if they offered them in her size- (stupid manufacturing companies.)