The Hardest Job on Earth

I decided I am running for president. It cannot be any harder than getting a 12 year old who hates to dress up outfitted for a wedding. We have been to twelve hundred stores and looked at more dresses than there are stars in the sky.
Here is a compilation of the astute fashion reviews by the 12 year old:
NO! Too old persony. Too pink. Too purple. Too fancy. Too frilly. NO Hannah Montana. Too low. Too high. Too loose. Too tight.
Or my personal favorite.... "I don't know, I just don't like it."

It is not like I waited til the last minute. We started shopping for the shoes 2 months ago. On most of those items I did not get the in depth perspicacious analysis I enjoyed with the dresses. On the shoes, most of the time all I received was an incredulous sneer, and then a stomping flight from the source of such maternal malevolence. We finally settled on shoes that give me shudders to mention, but it was the first shoe other than sneakers she would agree to wear to the wedding- dress Crocs. Yes, all you fashion afficionados, eat your heart out and prepare for the next wave of haute couture to sweep the nation. Plastic shoes that mimic patent leather dress up shoes.

With cunning detente, I was able to persuade her to accede to the necessity of a dress "in theory". This is a huge step from a dress in reality, I discovered. Finally, wrestling her to the ground since she was weakened by the flu, I was able to get two possible outfits on her, and quickly snapped the pictures to send to my assorted consultants- the mother of the bride, my savvy sister, and Matt with his girlfriend who has a chance of remembering what it was like to be twelve. An ominous silence from the mother of the bride for a day, was countered by the rapid fire response of my other consultants. Karissa was gentle in her admonition, Matt said, "EWWWWWWW", and Holly rebuked me firmly and promised a set of guidelines more complex than the Monroe Doctrine. Meanwhile, the twelve year old was constructing a gown out of string art.

I cannot even bear to print the 12 year old's response to the need for stockings. And now we are down to 11 days til D-Day. The emergency forces called in have sent me pictures with no concept of the enemy I face. It is not that I have NO fashion sense.... though I admit that when I was twelve I sewed orange curtain fringe pompoms to the bottom of my jeans as an attractive accent.....It is that I am forced to accept restrictions on the rules of engagement that no General has ever had to face. No bows, no lace, no florals, no pink, no purple, no frills.... and this is just a partial list. Then there is the intangible nonsense that she has to "like" it. If we go to the Children's dept., we are deluged with Hannah Montana which she hates. If we go to the Juniors dept., we are faced with prostitution clothing. If we go to the Misses dept., we are faced with "old persony". What is a mother to do? Well I am giving it one more day, and then I am submitting my resignation papers and settling for a more restful job. Look out President Obama.