I was talking to a friend of mine at the post office while Rosey hopped and skipped around, frequently running back to have her jeans cuffed up again. Each time I'd stop, sink to a knee, and cuff, all the while gabbing away.
My friend (who reads this blog, and saw the pictures yesterday) eyed me strangely.
'Still wishing you had the big hair, Jess?'
I blink-blinked at her. 'Wha?'
She shook her head. 'It's not fair to make your children suffer because you wish the eighties had never stopped, you know.'
What in hell was she on about? I looked at Rosey, playing in her jacket, her little outfit of striped tshirt and pink jeans, her crocs and ponytails. Nothing about her screamed I Am A Child Of The Eighties. No instant mullet, no plastic bracelets. Maybe her jeans were a bit too vividly pink, but the child likes brighter colors, and.....
Her jeans. The ones I'd just cuffed. TIGHT TO HER LEGS.