when ugly attacks

today i'm going to share with you a story about one of the more frustrating situations i've experienced as a parent. if you know anything about how i write, i think you'll know not to expect any 'we went here, my baby cried about this, i changed a poopie diaper in the middle of a crowded store and it was so embarrassing but her cuteness made up for it' kind of crap.

it all began with the fuss's first birthday party last weekend. after receiving mostly really great mix and match clothing pieces for her, i called my cousin laura to ask what the rule was on returning the ugly stuff. i felt a familiar twinge of jewish guilt that my nana has instilled deep within my being rise up and bully me into a corner, smacking me in the face with a blunt 'how dare you! those clothes were picked out lovingly as gifts for your kid from her relatives who adore her. you need to get over yourself and be happy that she's as fortunate as she is to have those things.'

but then i remembered that i can exchange just about anything nowadays and that really isn't so bad. no one has to be the wiser. a few encouraging words from laura, who explains that it's better to get something you like than to have your kid look like a dumpster diver, and i was off to the mall, gift receipts in hand.

what i wasn't prepared for was being outsmarted by the reigning queen of ugliness.


this hideous creation has magical powers the likes of which i've never seen before and hope to never experience again for the rest of my life.

in the children's department at macy's, surrounded by endless aisles of pink and lace, i pulled the dress out and laid it on the customer service counter hoping for a quick and easy exchange. instead, the air around us turned black and foul. mysterious clouds formed overhead. spiders and worms came out of no where and began to make their way towards the evil dress-queen. i pressed my child's bear-head blankie into her hands and guarded her, trembling.

before my mouth could even start to warn the helpless cashier, snakes arose from the hypnotic leopard print and made an unearthly screeching. the cashier was instantly turned to stone, petrified and completely devoid of any remnant of human behavior. sounds emanated from within her rock-hard facade, 'we. cannot. take. this. dress. back.'

the cashier was trapped, held fast by the grips of the dress's evil powers. to save her i had to wrestle the monstrosity back into the gift box from whence it came. i closed the cardboard lid and broke the spell. the cashier awoke, free from the devilish hold, and gave me a blank stare as if the whole encounter had never happened.

i sullenly took the gift box back, knowing i'd never be rid of its terrible contents.

my feet were heavy as i walked away, stealing glances at the cute, normal looking dresses on the racks. they seemed to feel my pain, the various sleeves and price tags rustling with sympathy as i passed.

perhaps i should get used to losing. i am a parent, after all, and things can't always go the way i want them to anymore. but that doesn't mean my kid is going to wear the medusa dress. no, the best place for that mess is the garbage, so that no other child can be subject to the bad taste of a loving relative.