Where do I start?

During a recent conversation with someone, they relayed a shirt they had seen a group of mothers wearing. It was tax free shopping day, which like Black Friday really should be renamed. I’d go with something like “Due to a high degree of self loathing, I submit my pitiful soul to a day of shopping amidst a herd of Honey Boo Boo watching wildebeests day,” but that’s just me. The mothers were with tiny cheerleaders, something like embryo to age 10. They do start cheering in utero these days, don’t they? It keeps getting younger and younger. I’m convinced I’m going to see a cheerleader outfit for an unfertilized egg one of these days. At any rate, the women’s shirts said, and I couldn’t make this up if I tried, “Big hair just gets you closer to God.” Doesn’t that just make you want to move into a cave in Tibet?

Now, I’m not sure whether my fashion sense is more offended or if I’m more disturbed by the implying divine separation my short hair is causing. I never knew something as simple as business in the front, party in the back could get me into heaven. Strangely enough, this is not the most disturbing thing about the encounter that was relayed.

Apparently, the conversation centered around the age appropriate nature of a belly shirt. Some thought six, some went with seven, and the moral stalwarts decided eight. They all agreed they shouldn’t overly, oh, I can’t even say it. They used the ‘s’ word in regards to little girls. That word is meant for wedding nights and grown women with a startling lack of shyness on poles, not kids. And just for the record, the word ‘overly’ shouldn’t even apply. Anything intended to exploit that in a child is too much. There is no appropriate amount. I’m sorry, but that just brought out the dad in me. Then again, I have pathetically small hair, so what do I know?