It’s official, I’ve turned into my mom. I didn’t think it would happen but the inevitable became a reality this weekend. To be quite honest, it has been slowly creeping up on me for the past year. I make grunting noises when I get up from the Lazyboy. I wear scarves more and more, both to keep me warm and to hide my soon-to-be-middle-aged neck. I constantly tell my daughter to wear slippers and put on a sweater (even in July) and I complain about loud music in stores.
But this weekend was the moment of truth: I transcended from a stubborn, petulant daughter and turned right into the woman I swore I would never become.
It’s like this. I’ve been having a clothing crisis for quite some time (yes, I know, there are more important issues in the world, but let me vent). My regular fashion choices just seem a bit … well, too young and a little too trendy. My body begs to wear today’s hottest trends, but my face says, “Cover me with a paper bag!” So when it came time this weekend to purchase some cruisewear for our next vacation, I dragged myself in to what I used to call the “old lady shops” – c’mon, you know them: Talbot’s, Jones of New York, Laura (though I will never venture into Tabi unless I need a sweater with a reindeer on it). And you know what? I had a pleasant experience. No loud music, no sales personnel with nose rings and tattoos, no long lineup at the checkout counter, no tiny change rooms. Just a bright, beautiful shopping experience with clothes that looked pretty darn good on me.
Before I knew it I had picked up some much needed separates and dropped a few hundred dollars at Jones of New York. I left the store so happy and hummed myself all the way home. As I walked through the door, I was still pleased as punch. And when my partner Gerry looked at the big fat shopping bag I was holding and said, “Isn’t that an old ladies store?” all I could do was grin.
“Yes,” I replied proudly. “I’ve turned into my mother and loving every minute of it.”
They say it’s a rite of passage for daughters to become their moms … right? I’m going with that. Grazie, mamma!