Skorts are toast

"Okay, Kaila, you're wearing a skirt. What's the 411 on skirts?"

"Sit like a lady."

"Right on, sistah. You're good to go."

We were going out to brunch at Toast -- a cozy little gourmet eatery bursting with flavor and decor. It offered up cool lighting, cute seating and lots of interesting artwork. The last thing I wanted its patrons to gaze upon was Kaila's 100% cotton Circos.

Of course, a four year old cannot be trusted. So, Kaila wears skorts. To me, there's nothing worse than a preschooler flashing everyone in the middle of a restaurant. I don't want to see bunnies wearing headphones, Dora and Boots or a Disney princess in all her glory while I'm eating.

Skorts. Skorts. Skorts.

We had a 20-minute wait when we got to Toast. No worries, I thought. Kaila had an etch-a-sketch on her lap and was loopdy-looping and curlie-q'ing away. With every twist and turn she took, I became less concerned with wardrobe chaperoning and more engrossed in the restaurant around me. When I finally turned back to my girl, I was horrified. She still had the etch-a-sketch in her lap, but both feet were planted firmly on the chair's seat with her knees resting on each armrest. Her skort was no longer functioning as intended and, just like Elin, I felt incredibly betrayed. I slapped those kneecaps down, hissed something to the effect of "what part of sitting like a lady didn't you get" and wondered how many strangers just witnessed Area 51. Hmm, I thought, since Kaila has no inhibitions, I might as well embrace her exploitations. Next time, I'll write something cheeky on the back of them chicken legs.

"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard."

"Just peachy!"

"If you can read this, you're too close."

On second thought, skorts are toast.