The other day us three girls went to HUSH, a cool consignment store that is located dangerously close to where I live. This is not your usual consignment store. In my experience these kinds of places are skewed a lot older� with much more beige/sensible items, yet everything is still too expensive. HUSH is way cooler� younger and fresher. Just like meeee! [chokes on tea and bran muffin]
If we make a small detour it�s on the way home from the girls school, thus making it an inopportune opportunity to shop.
If you�ve ever attempted to shop with young children you know what I�m getting at here. The experience is a perpetual conflict between your need to try things on and limited attention spans that are the equivalent of the neighborhood chipmunks. And they are just as chatty and squirrely. Shopping with two kids in tow isn�t easy and is best avoided � but � if I want to check out the store I have little choice. It�s always a matter of �now or never.�
Fortunately for me, one of the owners of the store is not just savvy and hip, she�s also very kind to Emma and Sarah. She�s grown to know us, at least by sight (we’re in there a lot, there’s really no missing us) and she never fails to engage the girls in pleasant conversation. Unfortunately the �conversation� tends to be completely one-sided because my daughters are usually non-responsive unless the person initiating the conversation is carrying a puppy or working behind a cotton-candy machine.
�Say hello,� I urge, almost embarrassingly. �Say goodbye� I say as I squeeze their mittened hands as a way of prompting. Anyway, yes, she is the rare kind of storekeeper who treats children like the normal little people they are. As a result, I don�t dread shopping there, and if we�re alone in the store I don�t feel obligated to clutch onto their collars or shush them � la Banana Republic.
So I was shopping for an outfit for Marks’ work party. The girls made a beeline to the glittery party and prom dresses and immediately started playing �I�m a princess and this is what I�m going to wear to the ball.� After I made sure they weren�t yanking the gowns off their hangers, I worked my way through the racks. I didn�t find anything that suited the occasion, so made our way out and then stopped to chat with the kind owner lady. Note: I�m totally paraphrasing this conversation.
Store owner: �Oh! I see you girls like the glittery dresses!�
Emma and Sarah: ���
�Sequins and sparkles, I like those too!�
Girls nod. Look down.
�You know who wears those kinds of things, fashion models!�
Girls give a blank stare. I realized they probably didn�t know what a model was. How to explain that concept? Thin human coat hangers? In my mind I was already thinking about how this would unfold �
�You know, models! Girls you see in magazines and in the newspaper�� she continued.
Pause. Insert sound of wheels turning in small brains.
�We�re already in magazines and newspapers!� Sarah offered.
�Oh really?�
More nodding.
�We�re going to be in a magazine soon,� said Emma, looking in my direction. �And even people in TORONTO will see it!
[Sidebar: Toronto, in the girls minds, is considered a far and exotic place somewhere near Bora Bora. They don�t know much about it, only that Papa�s favourite hockey team is from there and that I was born there.]
The owner looked over at me with an amused look, and I explained the whole Reader�s Digest article and photo. (Which, by the way, is complete – edited and proofed. And I know this because someone called me from RD yesterday to check the spellings of our names for the photo caption. (!) I was assured it was a great picture. I hope she�s right. I do want to make sure folks in Toronto see my best side.)
I�m not sure if the girls realize what it means to have their photo in the paper. They�ve grown a little blas� about it because it�s happened a few times now (thanks mostly to parents with connections in the local media). Hopefully it quashes their desire to be fashion models. :)
