It is one of the few places that
45 minutes of alone time can be transformed into a mini-vacation complete with
a venti half-caf caramel macchiato.
I love that Tyra Banks conspired
with Oprah to make buying inexpensive clothes fashionable there. Its name rolls off your tongue like that of a
boutique found on the Champs-Élysées..."Tar-Jay".
On a good day there, you can pick up clothes
for work, an outfit to pretend you are going to do yoga in, a lawn chair,
diapers, and dinner.
We were on a mission to get some exercise
sneakers inspired by my three-year-old, Isla.
I think her exact words were "Mommy, you look funny in your belly."
Maybe it's because I was wearing maternity shorts (from when I was pregnant
with her.) Or maybe it's because of my affinity for all things food related.
While we were there, we picked
out a birthday present for her friend.
Her first choice was a total score. A Furbee. It's loud and cute. Her friend will love it, and it will be
sufficient payback for the drum machine Isla received on Christmas.
Somewhere around the sock aisle,
it happened. She ran to the shelf,
picked up something, ran back and yelled "It's so pretty! I want it."
Not being a big fan of "I want it", I waited for the "manners"
song and dance. "MAY OI HAVE IT PLEASE?" (She gets an accent when
she's being polite.) She handed it to me so proudly.
I'm not easily confused, but this
was seriously puzzling. What she handed
me was a training bra. Warning...I'm about to sound like a grandmother talking
about walking to school, 5 miles both ways, with no shoes. But when I was a kid, a training bra was a
bit more, well, innocent. This
"training bra" looked like it was part of Victoria Secret's
"Very Sexy" line. It was a padded training bra for a seven year
old. I can't possibly imagine what she could be
training for.
"PUH-LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZ
MOMMY?" she said it again. This
time she hugged my leg a little.
Luckily I was able to divert her
attention to some Elmo jammies and quickly stash it back in its home next to an
equally troubling pair of tiny bikini panties.
Don't get me wrong. I remember the days of "I must, I must,
I must increase my bust" but the only company willing to help me was
Charmin. And I was closer to 12. I get
that there may be a small (and disturbing) market for this, but is it really the message we want to send to our daughters?
One day I will no longer be able
to divert her attention. One day this
will require "a conversation" and I'm not sure what I will say. For now, I'm going to give Tar-jay the
benefit of the doubt. If you need me,
I'll be in my yoga clothes, on my new lawn chair, drinking my macchiato.
