My tastes have always run from the garish to the downright tacky. Whenever I’d date someone new, my friends teased me, “Show him the BECKY BELT” and if he laughed and shook his head in a “oh THAT wily Becky” kind of way, well, he was a keeper. If he didn’t, he wasn’t. Any guy who wants to dump you because you like glitter and sequins and hot pink isn’t someone who loves you for the right reasons. Just saying.
Anyway, it’s the stuff of legends, my tastes, and I’m pretty okay with that. If you’re going to be larger than life, it might as well be because your tastes suck.
Shoes, especially, my Awesomely Tacky Light Shines upon. I own a pair of black pumps, but they were for a wedding I was in. The rest of my shoe closet isn’t so unrefined.
Yesterday, I finally got in the mail a pair of shoes I’d put in my Amazon.com shopping basket ages ago. I’d finally remembered to buy blue hair dye for my peek-a-boo highlights in the back and was all WELL HELLO THERE AWESOME SHOES and bought them.
They showed up and the kids swarmed because normally packages that show up are for them. Plus, kids are pretty self-absorbed like that, which is kinda something that I respect about them.
I explained that the package wasn’t, in fact, for them this time, and the boys went outside to look at constellations. My daughter, however, made like she didn’t hear me. She’s a stubborn one, my girl.
I said it again as I opened the package and still she ignored me, her big eyes on the box in my lap. Then, I uttered the words I shouldn’t have: “SHOES.”
Now I said, “These are shoes for Mommy, Amelia. Aren’t they pretty?”
What she heard was,” ‘BLAH BLAH BLAH, PREETTTY PRESENT FOR AMELIA, AMELIA!”
And then I whipped my new shoes out to show her.
To be fair, they look like shoes a child could wear, because of my lack of taste and all, but really, the heel is high and she’s not two years old yet. She already wears a small heel on her Mary Jane’s (her insistence) but her shoes can fit my big toe.
Well, all she saw was PRETTY SHOES.
So when I took HER pretty shoes and put them on MY feet, well, that Pranksters, that was unacceptable.
She tried to pry them off my feet.
When I took them off, confused by her ire, she tried to put them on her own tiny sausage feet. It didn’t work. This served to make her more angry so she screamed harder. Oh, my daughter has a temper, but this was unlike anything I’d ever seen.
My sons came running in to see if she’d been caught in a bear trap or had been run over by a truck and when they saw her standing with my shoes, they stopped and stared, mouths agape.
We all stared at her as she shrieked.
Pranksters, she yelled, cried, and beat her tiny fists against the floor for a full forty-five minutes until I put her into bed.
Guess this means that she’s inherited my tastes…
…and my temper.