I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville wife and mother with a passion for family travel, (mostly) healthy cooking, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries with you, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark.
June 17, 2006
>I’ve been getting catalogues in the mail lately for designer children’s clothing. You know, the expensive shit that ends up being worn all of two times. The stuff only my mother will buy.
Most of the duds look frankly uncomfortable. Hand smocked dresses with lots of lace, starched and appliqued gingham playsuits, scratchy monogrammed bloomers… It may not be practical, but I’ll admit it’s all strangely compelling on little girls. But when it comes to dressing boys this way?
I mean, look at this poor kid’s face. Mommy, his eyes are pleading. Please accidentally delete this picture from your hard drive on one of those nights when you finish off that bottle of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay you found in the back of the refrigerator.
You can tell the boy is already imagining this very photo appearing larger-than-life at his wedding reception, his corporate lifetime achievement award ceremony, and his divorce proceedings on the day his wife’s attorney tries to prove that he cheated on her with another man.
Witness the humiliation, the helpless rage, the indignity clearly visible on the face of this youngster. The shirt and shorts aren’t so bad, but the addition of the hat and gold chain make this ensemble the stuff of blackmailing legend.
I would argue based on this photo that Britney Spears ain’t got nothing on the mother of this child when it comes to poor decision making. Really, Sailor Baby’s mom should be ticketed for ocular assault.
And then there’s this little number.
You got it. An outfit so bad they couldn’t even find a boy who’d agree to wear it for the picture. If ever I hear that any one of you purchased for your son something even remotely resembling this get-up, I’m going to have to call Social Services on you.
You think I’m kidding?