THE wee woman and I went clothes shopping recently and, far from the potential recipe for disaster that such events usually mean for us, the outing went pretty well, I have to confess.
We had gone out to source a dress for her doting uncle's wedding and, conscious of the fact that the wee woman's attention span is a volatile commodity which usually runs out just when you're counting on it most, I had a plan of action.
With budget and time constraints foremost in my mind, I chose only two clothes shops, and had a fairly clear idea of what would best suit the occasion.
As it was, the wee woman eagerly pointed at practically every single dress of every single shape and size, confidently declaring: "I want that one, Mummy!" But, thankfully, with only the two best options in my hand, we took off to the changing rooms for what I had expected to be a highly charged, tears-and-tantrum-filled episode. How wrong I was.
The wee woman loved trying on the gorgeous little dresses I had picked out for her. As soon as she put each one on, off she twirled and pranced, checking out her reflection in the full-length mirrors all around her.
Eventually, we decided on the dress which epitomised the wee woman's own idea of perfection: "The Cinderella dress, Mummy!" Obviously the endless readings of her favourite bedtime story have made an impression in that lively little mind of hers, because nothing would do until the wee woman was content that her obedient old mum had paid for the appropriate item and placed it securely in the bag.
After that, it was off to the coffee shop for us ladies, to congratulate ourselves on a job well done. Let's hope the next shopping trip is as much fun.