Panty pride

Yesterday, Miss Dub and I went shopping for her first pair of panties. I don't like the word panties. I told myself I would never use the term, but somehow I just feel like Miss Dub will end up with a gender identity crisis if I don't get all creepy-feminine when talking about her underthings. She picked a set adorned with images of Elmo and requisite doses of pink. I'm not sure why she is obsessed with "Mo" since she's never really watched Sesame Street, but it appears she came with an inborn knowledge of Big Bird and his gang of furry friends.

You might be wondering why I'm trying to potty train my 17-month-old. Well, for starters she has an unnatural interest in potties and poop, including public declarations of the latter, so I thought she might be ready. Also, I just read a little blurb from the Baby Whisperer which declared that Americans are lazy and potty train their children much later than any other nation, even though it's easier for children to do it before 2. Did I mention she's British? I feel like British folk should be trusted for anything except dental referrals.

So I'm going to give it a half-hearted attempt since whole-hearted is not my cup o' tea. (See, I feel British already.)

But as the panties get rolled across the scanner by our young, male Targeteer, I got a little embarrassed for her. (This from someone who proudly purchases tampons and enemas without any cover-up items.) And wouldn't you know it - Miss Dub didn't even care. She was like, "Check out my sweet chonies! They're awesome!" Though it came out like this:"Look! Mo!" To his credit, the cashier acted mildly interested and didn't even blush.

I'm not sure where this panty pride is headed, but I worry it may be my fault. Would underwear have been a better word choice?

You tell me.



p.s. See Miss Dub in all her fairy glory here. Thanks Glamma!