Fashion Advisor

Today I took Koji to the mall because I had scheduled a much needed and long awaited eyebrow wax. Yahoo! I love to have hot wax applied to my facial hair so it can then be brutally yanked off by a smiling blonde lady named Hilda.

Maybe not. But I do quite like the results, and I'm willing to endure the pain to avoid the dreaded "mono-brow" and/or any other bushiness that results when I allow my brows to grow untended...for a whole year?! It's nearly been that long since I last had the pleasure of an eyebrow wax. Japanese women don't have bushy eyebrows--far from it--it's just that they don't seem to mind plucking or even shaving?!

This is why I was overly anticipatory as I wheeled Koji into Mario Tricoci. And accordingly, DEVASTATED when they said that kids aren't allowed in the "spa area". So, I could leave him in their lobby and some random receptionist would watch him while I was being waxed. Um, no. I almost cried as I choked out, "Never mind, I'll just cancel my appointment".

I should have known; I've never taken him there before. I let my excitement about being waxed overcome all logical thought. Now I'm still bushy and quite sad about it--also wondering if I should hold a grudge against Mario, or just chalk it up to my own stupidity?

In any case, what happened next was almost amusing enough to help me put the whole trauma behind. I went into a clothing store--once I could find one that I was familiar with--in the almost year since I last walked around this mall, thirteen, I counted them, thirteen stores had changed! Of course I was "just looking" but then, oops, I found a pair of pants on sale that I had to try on. So I went into the dressing room and parked Koji right outside.

Japanese sensibilities dictate that I have to take my shoes off in a dressing room (I should get over it, I'm probably just coming out with grimy socks since most other people don't possess the same sensibility?!), which I did after parking Koji right outside the door and going in. As I was putting on the pants, he called me, so it seemed to make sense that I should open the door once I had them on.

Then it also seemed to make sense to ask him, "how are they?" not that I realistically expect any kind of fashion advice from a two-year-old. I should have given him more credit.

He looked me up and down, thought about it very seriously and then replied, "It would be better if you had your shoes on."