Comment: Girls, Girls, Girls

I've noticed that my daughter and I are having little issues over things that glitter.

Sounds ridiculous, right? What I mean is, for example, we have four different napkin rings. I selected them in terms of symbols that I thought best represented the family members. I got my husband a simple wooden one (because he likes real things and hates plastic crap); I got my son one with a maple leaf on it because he likes them (and he's Canadian); I got a fancy one with shells for my daughter because she has what in this family we call "ocean eyes"; for myself, I picked what I liked: a glittery, orange cluster of faux gems. I like me some fake bling.

Then my daughter saw it. And guess what? She wanted it. Screw the dangling pretty seashells and attendant symbolic impact. She. Wanted. It.

This was some time ago, and we'd forgotten all about it until she pulled them out again today. So who knows whose will shall prevail on this one?

But it isn't just napkin holders. When I see anything pink, or glittery, I want it just as much as my daughter does. I still like Hello Kitty. I don't care that I'm over 12. I like shiny things. They don't have to be real, or expensive, just shiny.

I think this goes back to my childhood; what doesn't, really? I had a short, bowlish hair cut and was mistaken for a boy until I was well into my teens. There are only so many times being called "son" is funny. (Answer: Zero.)

Then I went through my adolescence as an androgynous, angry punk.

So it seems fititng that now that I'm at least technically a full-fledged grown-up, it seems to have come to glitter and jewels, spangles and finery. (Hi Hayn!)

I'm finally embracing my inner girly girl. I may have short hair, but it's dyed blonde and full of "product". I may wear army boots, but they have flowers on them. I may act like a bad-ass, but I totally like tulle. And lip gloss.

This is just how it is.

I think because I was so boyish throughout my childhood (without the accompanying athletic prowesse, natch), I'm still trying to make up for it.

So in spite of the fact that gender roles have happily changed, and males can wear pink and marry each other (at least in the cool states), and women can work and wear suits and grab their crotches publicly, I still embrace my stereotypically girly exterior.

But I draw the line at matching mother-daughter outfits. We only go as far as both wearing leg warmers on the same day. Come on, I'm not nuts.