Back-to-School Shopping is a Bad Thing

I just took the kids to Kohl's because, obviously, I hate myself.

It is important to note that I try in all ways to never take the kids to the store with me. I'm fully aware of the impossibly high standards I want them to maintain (think of the VonTrapp children singing "So Long, Farewell") and how it's probably not feasible for active, happy (who let them get that way?!) children. So, I try to give us all a break and shop on my own as much as possible.

This time, however, I needed their bodies present to try on jeans (which, by the way, seem to be sized by drawing a random number out of a hat and sewing it into any given pair). I tried to bribe them with fruity Mentos. I told them they could have a whole roll to themselves if they had good behavior in the store. But, by the time we left I was threatening to throw the Mentos in the trash if they didn't try to maintain an air of social decorum. Really? I've become that person? I'm a candy thrower-away-er?

But, they did maintain.  They kept the cage matches in the dressing room to a minimum; they stopped hiding among the clothes racks (which I'm pathologically convinced is going to lead to their abductions). So, I tried to cut them some slack. I retreated into the happy place in my mind that lets me turn a blind eye to shenanigans.  And, I let them play their weird step-on-this-tile-but-not-that-tile game.

Then, we got to the check-out line. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. We had made it. I wasn't going to have to throw their candy away! All we had to do was check out our three items and we were done. I was actually starting to feel good about the errand we had run together.

There was a mother in front of us buying clothes for her daughter (and, judging from the amount of clothes they were buying, mom doesn't like to do laundry but once a month). The girl could only have been in middle school. You would agree with me if you had seen her. She was tiny, and young. No way could she have been in high school. And, as the clerk rang up her new "underthings", I realized with horror... her bra size was bigger than mine.

I hate back-to-school shopping.