Tonight, we went school shopping, which I haven't participated in since 1993, but you know, bygones. J.R. wanted me to help Sam pick out new clothes, and since I've seen the way he dresses, I thought it was a good idea, too. However, I was not prepared for what this would mean to Target employees. When Sam came out to show me two different dress options and I told her I supported whichever choice she made, the very nice, but slightly odd dressing-room attendant praised me as "a good mom." Dude. I am not a mom. I am far too young to be a mom. Okay, I'm not too young to be a mom. But I feel too young to be a mom! I'm a ... friend-like adult-type supervisory person. Who gets to yell at you when you don't put your crap away. That's all.
Oh, man. I am three inches away from mom jeans. Sonofabitch.
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