Little Girls

There’s just SOMETHING about little girls, that makes me uncomfortable.

Back in 1999, when I found out I was going to have a baby, I prayed for many, many hours that it would be a girl. I begged The Ex to find tricks that people might have done to force one sex over the other, but he just laughed at my naiveness. Once I got used to the fact that I was having a boy, I was beyond happy that I didn’t have to deal with ponytails and dresses. I wasn’t a ponytail and dress kind of little girl, so I knew I wasn’t about to raise one. I needed someone who would play Army Men with me, and shoot guns, and play with toy cars, and get dirty in the mud. And that’s what I got. A little boy who likes being a boy.

Yesterday, SS and I hit up the local swap meet. Every time we walked past a booth with girlie clothes or fun kid toys, SS’s daughter was first in line to look.

After we left the swap meet, we headed over to the mall to use a few gift certificates she received for Christmas. And do you know which store we spent most of our time? This one….

Have you been in this store? It’s a store I’ve never even HEARD of, let alone been inside. We spent over an hour in there. She went through every single piece of clothing, looked at every single piece of jewelry, and touched every pair of fuzzy socks. She tried on one item after another, all while SS wondered if any other man ever accompanied his daughter to this store. Or was this a Mom thing?

After standing in line for 25 minutes, we finally left, vowing to NEVER go back to that store.

Lesson I learned: if I ever have any more children, they must be boys. girls will be sent back.