Shopping: Not for the faint of heart

It's back to school time, and Drama Princess and I will soon be out scouring the countryside for this year's school supplies and new duds.



I'd like to say that I do this earlier and earlier every year, but that would be a lie and you'd all know it. (I say this about Christmas shopping too; every year I promise myself that next year, I'll buy one or two or three gifts every month, and have it all done before Halloween. But that's next year's project.) I take a little comfort in knowing I'm not the only one who puts it off. I've seen some pretty impressive fist-fights in the aisles at Target, but fortunately as kids get bigger, they also get better and better at making their mothers behave. I've been known to drag Drama Princess and her brother, Daredevil, into Wal-Mart at three in the morning, just to avoid the afternoon smackdowns that inevitably take place in the search for the elusive graph paper or dry erase markers.



The problem is that I'm that rarest of females, the woman who hates to shop. It's not that I'm cheap (okay, I am, but that's irrelevant). I just hate crowds, and noise, and narrow aisles, and rude customers, and rude salespeople . . . but most of all, I hate trying things on. And I'm pretty sure Drama Princess was born without the Shopping Gene as well.



Take the quest for the perfect swimsuit.



Now in her early teens, Drama Princess outgrows things faster than I can find them on sale, so before a trip she took back in June, it was necessary to find her a new swimsuit.



Now, Drama Princess is a tiny little petite thing (she got that gene from me, of course, although I hope she also got the gene which will turn her into Jabba the Hutt when she turns 40; it's only fair) and finding a swimsuit in the right size isn't easy. The Women's Department is completely out of the question. The Junior Department is iffy at best. Which leaves the Girls' Department.



Not surprisingly, Drama Princess had a load of trouble here. After all, she's not a little girl any more, and the swimwear for little girls is--well, little girlie. Not her size. Right size but wrong colors. Too many flowers. Stupid little animals all over them. Ten stores and three and a half hours after we began our search, Drama Princess was wailing, "They're all pink or flowered or monkey-infested!" Where were the grown-up looking swimsuits sported by those little pageant hussies you see on TV? Not at Kohl's!



And the prices! How does something the size of a pocket handkerchief with a bra hook cost fifty bucks? And while we're at it, who decided it was a good idea for young girls to dress in something the size of a pocket handkerchief? Don't get me going on bikinis. Drama Princess is mad enough at me as it is.



At long last, we found a place that had swimwear "separates." Mix and match, tanks and shorts and bikini tops and bottoms. No flowers, no pictures of Spongebob and, best of all, no monkeys. Ten minutes after we entered the store (and forty dollars later!), Drama Princess had the perfect swimsuit. She was happy with the way it looked on her, her dad was happy that it was modest, I was happy that the ordeal was over. For now.



But now that school starts soon, looks like I'll have to get back into the swim of things.