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Major Fashion Don’t. That got to be my title today. Just ask my youngest daughter, the 17-year-old recluse who is silly enough to ignore the fact that I delight in listening to the kids squeal about my wardrobe. It amuses me to no end, but she doesn’t seem to  notice.

Ok, well maybe. She bitches about it, but it doesn’t stop her from providing the commentary. Anyway, she about had a F-I-T when she saw what I was wearing…

“Oh no you didn’t! Oh no, Mom. You’ve gone too far now…” That’s what she was griping about, pictured right. My outfit today.

“What are you talking about?” I was laughing already, since I knew I was about to be treated to one of those now-famous Stinker-rants.

“You are NOT wearing that shirt with the snowman pants. It’s green and purple! They don’t match.” She seemed completely exasperated that I didn’t seem to know or care what she was talking about. Almost scandalized, for goodness sakes.

“What? What are you talking about? The green in the sweatshirt is the same color of green in his gloves,” I proudly pointed out. I had been happy to find a shirt that matched pretty easily this morning’s clothes hunt. “See?” I pointed this out to her. “It’s the same shade and everything!”

“It doesn’t count. You can’t count that, because the snowman’s gloves are tiny. And green and purple just don’t match.” She continues.

“And those socks?! Oh my God, Mom. How can you put those socks on your feet when they don’t match anything at all? Nothing. Those colors aren’t in anything else your wearing.”

“Pink and purple look nice together. That matches. It matches to me.”

“It does not! I HATE those socks.” She means it. She hates all my socks. I don’t know why, but it cracks me up consistently. She’ll get all riled up if I point out I’m wearing slouch socks–or better yet, slouch ‘em. She says it pisses her off. Ah, but a lot of things will piss a 17-year-old off.

She looked at my striped fuzzy socks and paused…she was intent. “Oh no! You’re wearing TWO PAIRS of SOCKS! I hate that! Uggh.” There was a pause.

“Mom…do those socks have a pattern? Are the colors in a pattern?” I laughed. I looked. Nope. No discernable pattern to me. I told her, “no.” And that? Well, it pisses her off more, of course.

Tomorrow? I think I’m wearing my slouch socks and my Scooby Do pants; they’re the ones I got at same thrift store as these pants. My offspring hate ‘em.

It’s fun to torture your kids.  {Walks off chuckling to herself, stage right.}

 

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