My daughter’s vanity knows no bounds. Just now she’s over at her cousin’s house for a birthday party, and the invitation specified that the party is a “painting party” so guests should wear unfancy clothes that their mothers weren’t concerned about. When Lydia saw the sweatpants and sweatshirt I had set out for her–neither garment stained or torn or otherwise objectionable as far as I (or any rational person) could see–she kicked up quite a fuss, refusing to wear them. She relented only when I pointed out that if she didn’t wear them she wouldn’t be going to the party at all, but even so she spent a good ten or fifteen minutes standing in front of the mirror complaining about her appearance.

When I was her age, I know I would have loved the opportunity to “dress down” for a party, but if I’ve learned anything by now it’s that Lydia and I are like chalk and cheese when it comes to matters of fashion (and many other matters, unfortunately).

As illustration, I’ll leave you with a hilariously appropriate tidbit that a friend of mine happened upon quite by chance yesterday and passed along to me: go to Google and do an image search on “not the boss of me.” You’ll laugh, I promise.