A mother's revenge

I don't know what I did to deserve you guys but I think I may have stumbled into the most kick ass group of women (and men) in the blogosphere. I thank you for all your kind words in regards to my last post and for not drawing mustaches and devil horns on the picture I posted. You'll never know how stressed out I was after hitting the 'Publish Post' button. You all made this Mama's weekend.

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Now that I'm finished gushing...

Could someone please tell me what the hell is going on with teenage fashion these days. Because what passes for clothing for the 13 to 18 year old set is enough to make a stripper blush.

Let me share with you the situation that raised my ire: There I was, driving through one of the local neighborhoods this afternoon when I came upon a group of girls - I'd say they were around 14, but who can tell these days? - waiting to cross the road at a stop light. I think they were wearing enough fabric between the six of them to make a nice pair of pants for Chicky Baby. Capri pants. And the makeup! Enough to make Tammy Faye Bakker say "Oh my Christ on the cross that's a lot of God damned makeup." What parent lets their kid out of the house looking like that?

This was all swirling around in my brain as I waited for the light to turn green.

And that is when my reality kicked me in the back of the head.

If you're playing along at home and you're nodding your head vehemently to what I have just spewed, then you my friend are a Parent. Or you have parental tendencies. And I don't know about you, but I'm a little freaked out by my passionate reaction to a group of girls and the clothing they chose (not) to wear. When did I become that woman? That mom? The one who tsk tsks teenage fashion? The one who says "That poor girl should really wear a jacket. Its only 55 degrees outside, she'll catch her death."? The one who wishes her 19 year old neighbor would pull up his pants and wear something besides baggy cargos, a wife beater and sideways baseball cap? Somebody tell me where this woman came from. And while you're at it could you tell me how to get the stick out of her ass. I mean really... What's next?

I know what's next and its not pretty. Soon I'll be criticizing their music. Just shoot me now please.

It doesn't seem that long ago that I was that teenage girl spending summers at my girlfriend's house. You know, the one with the older sister with the cool wardrobe? I went to her house because my mom wouldn't let me wear the Dr. Scholl's clogs (you'll twist your ankle and break your leg) and the painted on Jordache jeans. She hated that I wore makeup - and, to be fair, I really did look bad in blue mascara - and I poofed my hair within an inch of its life (I still weep, to this day, over the hole that I single handedly created in the ozone layer with my ever present can of AquaNet). So off I went to my friend's house to pilfer her sister's clothes when the sister wasn't looking. My girlfriends and I would tart ourselves up, flip up the collars of our shirts, attached appropriate bandanas to strange places, and head out to... I can't remember where the hell we were going. The playground to hang out with the 15 year old boys, maybe? McDonald's? Where ever it was, it was imperative that we looked as much like french whores, or Madonna, as possible.

We thought it was cool to draw looks from passing cars. We would count the number of car horns that would beep at us and we acted surprised at seeing the leering face of the older men who made the offending noises. We were too cool to play basketball with the boys when dressed as we were, even though each of us were hardcore athletes. Wouldn't want to get sweaty, that might ruin the hair.

I can remember this all so well. I can remember the disgusted look on my mom's face when she came to pick me up a little earlier than expected and caught me looking like I was about to audition for a Whitesnake video. She would yell and scold and I would yell back "You don't remember what its like to be young!".

Ah, but she did. Didn't she?

Now I have a daughter and when I see those young girls with their asses peaking out from beneath their shorts (butt cleavage!) I see my life flash before my eyes. That was me once and one day there's a good chance that will be my daughter. She's going to sneak out to the mall and purchase barely there tank tops and skirts with her birthday money and then hide them in the back of her closet. She'll then take the contraband and stuff it in her school bag to change into when I'm not looking. And then people on the street will see my child in the latest fashion trend influenced by MTV and they'll say to themselves "Why would any mother let her child leave the house like that?". And there's not a damn thing I can do to stop it. On the occasions when my mother was particularly pissed off at me for what I wore or what I did - that would have been every other week - she would yell "I hope you have a daughter just like you one day." Damn.

You don't think there's a chance that flannel and baggy jeans will come back into style, do you?