Stop Dressing Your Daughter Like a Prostitute

The princess had just graduated to a size seven when everything went to hell. We headed for our favorite department store, ready to take that leap into the world of 7–16. Bye-bye, 4–6X, I thought to myself with a tug of sadness. My baby was growing up. And apparently into a prostitute.The princess had just graduated to a size seven when everything went to hell. We headed for our favorite department store, ready to take that leap into the world of 7–16. Bye-bye, 4–6X, I thought to myself with a tug of sadness. My baby was growing up.And apparently into a prostitute."Where are the sevens?" I asked the sixty-something clerk who wore her glasses on a chain just like me."You're standing in 'em," she said.Oh no, I thought, looking around. Oh no, no, no, no, no, no."There must be some mistake," I said. "These are, well, slutty-looking. I'm talking about clothes for a little girl in first grade.""That's all we've got.""But these look like things a hooker would wear!"She smiled sadly. "You have no idea how many times I hear that every day.Okay, breathe. This is just some weird marketing experiment. Right?I went into my second-favorite department store and was invited to peruse the awfulness that is Tweenland! A better name would be Lil Skanks!Sequins, fringe, neon glitter tank tops with big red lips on them, fishnet sleeves, scary dragon faces lunging from off-the-shoulder T-shirts. Whither the adorable seersucker? The pastel floral short sets? The soft cotton dresses in little-girl colors like lavender, pale pink, periwinkle blue? This stuff practically screamed SYRINGE SOLD SEPARATELY.

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