The other day, my daughter got assertive about reorganizing my clothes...the ones I was wearing. She told me that I was a cool mom, but I didn't look like one, and the worst part was that I HAD cool clothes, but I just didn't wear them right.
"I'm going to be tweaking you at Disney," she warned.
I inquired as to why we'd be worried about my clothes to walk around out in the sun all day hundreds of miles from home. She sighed.
"Mom," she said patiently, "there are a lot of hot guys at Disney."
"And you think they won't talk to you if your mother isn't dressed appropriately?"
"I didn't mean for me!"
That didn't clear things up for me at all. "Why," I asked her, "would I want a 'hot guy' 800 miles from home?"
She rolled her eyes. "You are so not a girl."
I reminded her that when she'd overheard someone suggest that I should start dating again, she'd practically gone into convulsions.
"Yeah," she agreed, as if there were no inconsistency.
"So?" I pressed.
And she signed again. "Hello?" she said, "it's FLORIDA!"
Apparently, I'm going on spring break.