I took my daughter shopping yesterday. At the mall. At the huge, big mall where people cough right in your face and shove in front of you in line and where you suddenly think fifty-eight dollars doesn’t seem at all too expensive for a scrap of fabric made by a little child in a foreign country.

I love my girl. And we needed some clothes. She is growing tall, tall, tall like Mommy and nothing fits. Me, I just need to lose some weight, that would be a splendid idea. I have exactly one pair of jeans and they’re shredded. (Lots of dress slacks, but no damn jeans.) (No, I couldn’t find any jeans that fit, thanks for asking. But I found some other stuff and so did she, mission accomplished. Woo-hoo.)

Number of children I saw folded awkwardly in the compartments under the stroller, while younger siblings jumped around in the stroller above them: 2

Number of jumping kids I saw standing up in strollers, while their parents pushed them around (not same kids as first category, I guess that would add 2 to the total): 3 (or 5)

Number of toddlers I saw take headers down the escalator: 3

Number of them that screamed: 3

Number of parents that aided them: 0

Number of women that snapped “Watch it!” at me after they cut in front of me: 1

Number of Easter Bunnies I saw: 1

Number of grown men wearing bunny ears and taking photos of the Easter Bunny and screaming kids: 1

Number of photog assistants that weren’t forced to wear bunny ears and looked relieved about it: 1

Number of restaurants/kiosks we went to get get coffee, snacks, bottled water, lunch and more coffee: 5

Number of bottles of wine I purchased for home consumption: 2

Number of times my daughter and I told each other, “You’re stressing me out”: Um. 4? Or 6. Or 4.

Conversation I overheard between a grown daughter and her mother (re: 3-year-old granddaughter): “You can’t just leave, Mom! You can’t just take her and leave and then disappear and I don’t know where you are! You tell me, ‘Tina, I’m leaving!’ okay? Then I’ll know you’re gone. You just give me a heart attack when you do this, Mom!”

2nd conversation, this time between same mother and 3-year-old: “I know I said I’d take you to the Disney store, but we’re shopping for me first. Me. It’s my turn!” “No, my turn.” “No, my turn!” (wailing.) “OK, we’re going home now, are you happy?”

Conversation I overheard between a mother and her teenage daughter, who the mom had backed up against a wall: “You wanted the whole shopping experience, didn’t you? So you got it. This is it!” “Mom, everyone is staring at you.” (We were trying not to, I swear to you. I was doing eye-avoidance all day like crazy and so was Wacky Girl.)

We’re thinking online shopping is the way to go. Except when it comes to jeans.