Friday, 11 October 2013

Glamming up

                                       

Fast approaching her eleventh birthday my daughter has suddenly developped an interest in shopping. Whereas before she would only reluctantly agree to come with me to get her some new shoes/trousers/tops, nowadays I am the one who hesitates when she asks to be accompanied into town.

The fact is that she would rather go by herself - it has allready been two, or even three years since my daughter decided she was old enough to do most things on her own - and thus every shopping expedition starts with an argument. She demands an exact date, albeit months (years?) from now, on which she can set out on her own. I know if I let myself being tempted into picking a date it will be set in stone.
The minute I promiss to take her to a cafe and treat her to a hot chocolate however, she will grudgingly put up with me tagging along. As long as she is allowed to turn left on entering a shop while I take a right, that is. Which is easier said than done, because I have to make myself scarce without loosing sight of her. If she doesn't spot me the second she decides she has had enough solitude, she panicks. Big time.
Nevertheless I adore our girly outings together. It is lovely to see how she is changing from a little girl into a teenager. That she doesn't like a single piece of clothing that I like is only natural and to see her emerging from a changing room in leather trousers and a leather jacket (embellished with a chunky gold asymmetrical zip) is priceless.
My daughter is developping a rather unique style as she likes to combine zip off outdoor trousers and hiking boots with very glitzy leave one shoulder bare tops. We don't buy the leather jacket outfit as it is way too expensive, but instead we manage to find her a pair of black leather boots adorned with metal studs and a very garish orange top with loads of sequins and a rather busy print.
Over coffee and chocolate in a lovely little cafe, my olive skinned daughter confides in me, that she
really wants blusher, because she would like to be 'very brown in the winter too'. She is determined to spend her pocket money on it and since she can do whatever she likes with her own pennies, I let her.
Ages we spend surveying the different 'revolutionary' skintone alterating products. Finally my daughter picks a powder blusher that is the shade of an old fashioned clay tennis court. It will defenitely do the trick. She also finds a nice looking bottle of Vampy Kiss, which wouldn't go amiss if someone threw up in the car, but is just a tat overpowering in all other circumstances.
Hours later, glow in the dark orange and smelling divine, I find her on the sofa reading a girl's magazine.  She has a brilliant idea, she tells me. Next time we go shopping together she is going to pick out stuff for me to try on. 'It is going to be great', she says, smiling seductively. 'I will find you a really good pair of leather trousers and a very sparkly top'. Great idea! I am only hoping however that she will have forgotten all about the necessity of blusher by then.