It is a good thing that my daughter Cora has taste. I do not. In fact, some days I doubt that I even have tact. My in-laws, at whose house I clearly demonstrated the inability to make funny quips and say humerous statements without offending someone will attest to that fact. I'm still trying to make up for calling Jessies outfit un-matching. After being in graduate school and knowing the sort of schedule that one lives by while striving to do so many other things (like cook, laundry, clean, spend time with family, breathe....) I just feel horrible for re-enforcing some sort of super standard on someone who is already exceeding spectacular.
The worst part, is that I really am not fashionable. I wear alot of black, because you can't mis-match black with other colors too frequently, and because black hides stains. I wear alot of t-shirts, because I can whip them off fast to feed the baby. Most of my outfits engender the statement "doesn't think about her clothes and can't lift the baby poop stains."
Cora on the other hand cares about clothes, and not just on herself. She cares about colors, and she doesn't like it when Mom wears certain shirts. She made me put back the navy tank top, instead of wearing it with the black jeans. I am so lucky to have the little fashionista in my household. She even does experimental wardrobes with her dresses and shirts. "Angels", her word for dresses, are in vogue right now, accompanied by a pair of shorts or even pants, fitting right into that long torso look I see in fashion magazines. When she begs for bermuda shorts I will start turning in the application to Parsons.
If the clothes make the person, Coras 24 carat. I guess that puts me down there at gold plated. Oh well. From what her grandparents and great-grandparents tell me, there is no daughter alive who truely approves of the way their mother dresses.
Besides, at least someone has taste, because I do not.