I Spy With My Little Eye

Girl-Child made an observation yesterday that I really wished she'd kept to herself. We stood in line at the grocery store behind a woman who, I would guess, was close to fifty. Or, she just spent a way too much time sun worshiping in her lifetime. [note to self: remain out of the sun. You're doin' great! Keep it up! That could be YOU!] Her wardrobe selection, however, was hardly pushing twenty. She wore skin tight skinny jeans with jewel embellished rear pockets. These were tucked into her furry knee high boots. A jeweled gold belt slung around her waist. A peppermint pink long sleeved shirt worn with a somewhat busy vest. Then there was, of course, the hat. It was sort of newsboyish. But not. I also would like to go on record as saying that any one of these items are fine. When worn on their own. It was all just too-much too much. I'm not even going to discuss the hair and makeup. It just doesn't matter. Girl-Child pipes up with, "That lady looks like Hannah Montana". I'm rendered totally speechless. She said it quite audibly and the woman definitely heard. [It wasn't like last week when she whispered in a voice only dogs could hear, asking me if the very flamboyant gentleman who rang up my purchases in the beauty supply store was a 'girl' or a 'boy'.] So I'm standing there trying to figure out how to answer my daughter. And my hesitation only prompted her to repeat herself. "Mommy? Did you hear me? THAT LADY LOOKS LIKE HANNAH MONTANA!". To Girl-Child, this is a compliment. To a fifty year old woman who may not have been striving for that look, it's probably not. I answered the only way one can in that situation. A faint and disinterested "mmmhmmm..."