The Hissing Contest

Lucky and the "gateway purse"

A couple of Sundays ago, I went outlet-mall shopping with my grown daughters. One of them was headed to a special wedding and needed an equally special dress. 

We found the perfect garment and were celebrating our success over lemonade and ice tea when Older Daughter noticed my new purse, a gift from a friend. "Let me see," she said, leaning in for a better look. The purse is a shoulder bag made of fabric that has the look of a tribal print. It's eye-catching. In the center are two stylized cat figures. 

"It's a gateway purse," Older Daughter said.

"A gateway purse?" 

She nodded. "If you're not careful, pretty soon you'll be wearing cat earrings and cat pins."

Younger Daughter laughed so hard, she snorted iced tea out her nose. 

"I don't have cat earrings or pins," I said. Something about the expression gateway purse danced at the edge of my memory.

Of course! Roughly two decades ago, I'd described cigarettes as a gateway drug to Older Daughter. At the time, I'd have adopted a look of concern identical to the one she wore now. I probably spoke in the same uber-serious tone. 

"I suppose you think my Eccos are gateway shoes," I said. Older Daughter hates my sensible, black, great-for-walking-on-cobbled-street flats.

Clothes and accessories bond and divide mothers and daughters. When she was thirteen, I'd argue with Older Daughter about her skirt lengths and taste in clothes. In retrospect, her choices showed she was growing up and changing. My protests showed I wanted her to stay my little girl.

"I like my gateway purse," I said. 

"It's fine," she said, "just don't start wearing cat tee shirts."

Inside every middle-aged person is a thirteen-year-old rebel, and mine now wants a cat tee shirt. When Older Daughter sees me in it and narrows her eyes, I'll say: "But everybody's wearing it."

Mothers change, too. And payback's a saucer of cream.

Your turn: which of your possessions/items of clothing triggers the most scorn from the younger generation?