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Wednesday, April 30, 2003

This is the season of big game hunting -- the spring and summer cycle of special events requiring appropriate dress attire for 12-year-old girls. Boys too, of course, but their parents assure me that looking for a jacket and tie is to shopping for a dress as tooth-brushing is to root canal.

By "appropriate" attire, I don't mean something puritanical, either. I mean something that isn't trashy, and whose price tag doesn't induce a heart attack.

So here's what I learned from several weeks' worth of the hunt with two of the aforementioned species, one of whom lives in my house, and another mom:

1. Everything is ugly.

2. Or doesn't fit.

3. Which makes the search seem like cruel and unusual punishment.

For the mothers, that is.

Yes, the girls eventually grew tired and frustrated, but then, they were the perpetrators. We moms were the victims, forced to accompany our offspring from one store to the next in search of the elusive outfits that seemed to exist only in their minds.

Few daughterly words were necessary to convey their distaste for the precious few things we could find in their sizes. Sidelong glances, flared nostrils or curled lips were the nonverbal equivalents of "yuck," "yeah, right" and "you must be kidding."

I tried not to argue or push. I failed.

"Just try this one on," I'd say.

"I don't like it."

"How do you know? Things look different on the hanger."

"I just don't like it."

"What's wrong with it?"

"I don't know. Everything."

Was I like this at that age? No doubt. Did this defuse the migraine taking shape behind my eyes? Yeah, right.

Countless times I battled the urge to put things in a global perspective until the dreaded words finally popped out:

"I can't believe you turn up your nose at every one of these choices when children in India are in rags!" is possibly the least useful comment a parent can make in these circumstances.

Plus, it leaves you wide open to the inevitable comeback: "You mean children in India will have nicer clothes if I get something I hate?"

Allan Sherman's mother had more success with this line of reasoning, but to an unfortunate end. Her son, who grew up to write classic song parodies, was raised in the 1940s with the constant admonition, "Clean your plate, children in Europe are starving."

So he cleaned his plate. They kept starving, and he got fat. He also died of a heart attack in his 30s. Was that Mrs. Sherman's fault? I don't know, but it does say something about the unintended consequences of forcing your will on a recalcitrant kid.

Anyway, the girls were right about one thing. A lot of what we saw on the racks was ugly in the 1970s when it made its first brown-and-green-paisley-polyester appearance, and it's just as ugly today.

There were also dresses with flouncy, asymmetrical hemlines and gauzy fabric over elasticized linings that twisted themselves into knots when pulled over the head -- great for an "I Love Lucy" episode, but a pain in real life.

From store to store we slogged, only to find the same things everywhere. Who sets these styles, anyway? Someone who hates mothers, that's who.

Following one unsuccessful foray, I had to be calmed down by my fellow mom with an apple martini. After that, I didn't really care if we bought anything or not -- at which point, of course, we found exactly what we were looking for.

Clothing retailers, take note. You know how all those exclusive shops in the movies serve drinks to wealthy men while their wives/girlfriends try on dresses? Well, it's the mothers of teenagers who really need it.

Normally, I'm against alcohol as a problem-solver, but in this case I make an exception. If the stores can't come up with a better selection of clothing for an age group that's tough to please as it is, then they'd better bring out the vodka and vermouth before some mother out there snaps.