Dazzle Me

So last night,my four-year old asked me for a "Bedazzler". More specifically, it was my four-year old son, and he didn't ask, so much as he pitched the idea.

"Mommy, wouldn't you love a Bedazzler? You could make a butterfly! If you had a Bedazzler, I could make a heart on my pajamas that says 'I love Mommy'."

Sold! Actually, he could have stopped after "wouldn't you love a Bedazzler?" Because, really ... yes, yes I would! I have always longed for a Bedazzler, as it was on the long list of forbidden pleasures denied to me simply because they were, in my mother's words, "tacky".

The Bedazzler ranked right up there with the Jordan Marsh sandals that could transform into roller skates and anything made by Candie's. How I longed for red patent-leather platform clogs and a pink jean jacket bedazzled with beautiful jewels. I could have been the hottest thing going in the fourth grade. I could have been a contender.

Instead, I wore Cloud Climbers along with the oh-so-snappy outfits crafted by my mom in her "Stretch and Sew" class. To this day, Mom insists that no one can really tell the difference between denim-colored polyester gabardine and a pair of Levis. Yes, and Thanksgiving is even better with Tofurky.

Now that I am an adult, and a parent, I realize that tacky is sometimes an end-game in itself. I'm one of those backlash parents that over-compensates in the areas I feel my own parents were lacking. I let my kids go to the grocery store in tin foil hats and red velvet capes and I probably over-encourage self-expression.

I'm sure I'll be rewarded with their own rebellion later in life. They'll probably join the Young Republican's club and start sporting searsucker suits with bowties.

Until then, my youngest son and I will be a couple of Rhinestone Cowboys.

I didn't order a bedazzler though; I ordered two. Because I'm sure as heck not sharing ... there wouldn't be nearly enough tacky for both of us.

Cher-konk!