Homecoming is but a month away, necessitating a new dress. Shopping for party wear is a major pain in the disco because of the limited local selection. Checking the calendar, I saw this past weekend was the only one not yet scheduled between now and the dance, so we headed over to Brandon Mall.
Shopping at a huge mall should make this easy, right? Well, not so fast. We seem to experience a strange phenomenon when we enter this mecca of materialism. The plethora of shops muddles our brains as we become enamored with one shiny distraction after another.
It takes us an hour just to go through the amazing shoe department in Dillard's. I would never buy these sparkly, studded, multi-colored confections, as they cost upward of $200, and with five- and six-inch heels would render me well over six feet tall.
We enjoy drooling over them anyway, knowing before the end of the day, we'll see plenty of artificially-elevated waif women mincing about. I always feel bad for their little piggies all smashed in those fabulous shoes. My toes were quite happy not to be walking about in stunning stilettoes, but as the day wore on, even my flip flops began to wear thin in comfort.
Every single store held versions of the same dresses we had seen in the previous ones.
It began to seem there was a homecoming uniform. Far too common was the hideous, high-low design someone somewhere decided was the "in" thing this year. Only problem was none of the girls we saw shopping cared a bit for them. Appearing, like the shortest mini-skirt you've ever seen in the front, the rear of the dress hangs down anywhere from one to several feet longer. They reminded me of when we'd play dress up as kids and tie a sheer curtain around our waists. At age five I was a fashionista without even realizing it ,apparently.
Other options included super short dresses that looked more like ballet tutus than something that might cover one's butt. A few were gorgeous, rhinestone-encrusted versions of what can only be described as a professional ice-skater's outfit.
"Try this," gushed a sales lady, murmuring it was very Dolce and Gabbana. Apparently their daughter's school district allows girls to come half-naked, and must be in a very pricey taxing district, judging from the enormous price tag on this pink puffy confection.
I held the tiny, two-piece Tinkerbelle outfit and shook my head.
"What mother would allow her daughter to wear this," I questioned.
The dress consisted of a bustier-thing for a top, with nothing but lacing in the back. Part two actually was a tutu. I swear I had stuff like this for my Barbie dolls years ago.
"She could never wear this," I informed the sales lady, handing the Barbie wear back.
"We can't even wear strapless this year," my daughter added. The sales lady was shocked by our backward school district that had the gall to prohibit the bare backs, bellies and plunging necklines of high fashion. It was a touching moment and made me rather glad to be from hick town Sebring.
Imagine, our school leaders insisting the young ladies come dressed in something which covers the majority of their assets. Kind of makes you proud, don't it? Thanks to all those who ensure our students have a good time and for requiring a small dose of modesty.
We finally found a dress that fit the bill, didn't completely break the budget and most importantly of all, looks beautiful and classy.