tights

My daughter has discovered the transformative qualities of a dress.
It started with the tights. After selecting and returning three other pairs of socks to the drawer, she chose some tights. I suggested that they wouldn't be comfortable over her pants so she took them off. I helped her pull the tights on, which incidentally have flowers on the legs and a butterfly on the bum, and convinced her to wear a dress with the tights. Once she pulled on the fuzzy dress with the plaid kitty on it, she declared: "I'm like a mommy! I'm bigger."

I know that feeling. Seems silly and somehow conflicts with my feminist sensibilities, but nevertheless, I understood what she was saying. It goes back to my preschool days when I only ever wanted to wear a dress. It felt good (except for when I had to put snow pants over it). I was dressing up.

I don't get the same feeling when I think of wearing tights these days, but there is a hint of it on the rare occasions when I'm getting ready to go out. Whether it's a date with my hubby or over to a friends for dinner, the process of selecting an outfit (hardly ever a dress), doing my hair and make-up generates a tiny spark of excitement. Internally I declare: "I'm like a woman!"