'One day - you'll be in my shoes'

I can remember being told that by my mother... The thought brings a smile and a sad giggle.

I had refused to go shopping with her - nothing serious - just the grocery store.

She was standing there, hands on hips wearing sweatpants too short to meet her ankles, but covering the top of her socks, beat-to-shit Keds, a Mickey Mouse shortsleeved sweatshirt and a scarf over her hair. Now, I was not what could be termed a fashion-conscious teen, but this combination was just bad.

She said it was comfortable, to hell with what it looked like. This was a woman who was one of the best and classiest saleswomen at the Frontenac [St. Louis] Saks Fifth Avenue.

Dressed to kill five days a week and on the two days she wanted to relax - her kid refused to be seen with her. If I remember correctly, I did end up giving in and going. I always did.

But, shame on me. Especially now, as I sit here in my sweatpants, outdoor birkenstock clogs and sweatshirt that sadly received a christening of my coffee a few minutes ago. Only thing missing is the scarf...

Not going there.