Middle Child came home from a church youth retreat this Fall gushing about a boy. She vacillated between yearning, despair, and giddy admiration in the way of teenage girls. He was *sigh* Perfect. He met her parents. She met his parents. Middle Child wandered around smiling. Except when she giggled or sighed at a text message. The families sat together at Sunday service and made small talk afterward. There was a movie date with his parents and ice skating with us.
Perfect's school has a Winter Formal in three weeks, but he has not yet asked her to attend. The process of finding a dress is lengthy enough that we started yesterday just in case. The first two shops yielded one dress that was strangely reminiscent of Princess Leia from Star Wars and two "High-Low" dresses with handkerchief hemlines. Both of the last two were dress equivalents of a mullet (short in front, long in back) that had been through a shredder. None of these were what she really hoped to find. The perfect dress our (apparently reformed) tomboy is hunting will feature a fitted bodice with sparklies all over it and a foofy tulle skirt. Seriously.