If nudity were my daughter's only alternative to wearing this ensemble, I would traipse her around the neighborhood in her birthday suit without a second thought. The worst part is the price tag. Forty-eight dollars for this bedazzled piece of shite!
My own mama sat me down even before this item appeared in all its glory, and told me that I need to have a heart-to-heart chat with Mr-Mama. She said, "Honey, you can't go through your child's entire life pretending to have wardrobe malfunctions that ruin the horrible clothes she buys. At some point, you turn into a sitcom character. You just have to bite the bullet, tell her how much you love and appreciate her and didn't want to hurt her feelings, but feel that you must tell her the truth because you so very much want to have a good strong relationship with her where the two of you tell each other your honest feelings, and where her son never has to feel like he is caught in the middle. And then tell her you have very different taste in children's clothes, and you so appreciate her generosity but she has to defer to your taste."
I know J-Mama is right, she always is, though I fear she is under-estimating Mr-Mama's love for The Dramz. It sounds great when J-Mama says it, but we shall see. I am planning to ask Mr-Mama to join me for a cocktail one night this week, and I'll lay it out. I'll let y'all know how it goes.
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