This weekend, I officially leveled up in motherhood: I took my preteen, Emerson, dress shopping for her very first homecoming. And let me tell you, I thought I was prepared. I wasn’t.

First of all, homecoming itself isn’t what it used to be. Back in my day, you just… showed up. Now, kids are out here staging homecoming proposals like they’re auditioning for a reality dating show. Posters, balloons, flowers, choreographed TikToks (it is sweet though!)

Then came the dress hunt. Emerson had her own set of criteria, which apparently included: nothing her mother thinks is cute. I’m serious… the second I picked something up, it was dead to her. No explanation needed. Mom liked it? Automatic veto.

Dress number one? Taylor Swift-coded. Which I thought was a compliment, but apparently was not.

Dress number two? Looked like an upside-down mushroom. (Her words, not mine, though I couldn’t unsee it after she said it.)

Dress number three? Practically see-through. Absolutely not!

Dress number four? Too short. And I agreed!

Dress number five? According to Em, it was from the 1840s.” Which, okay, maybe did have some pioneer chic vibes, but I was trying to think outside the box.

And dress number six? The one I thought was “the one”? Way too expensive, but somehow also managed to look like it belonged on the clearance rack in Pretty Woman’s “before” montage.

By the end of the day, we had tried on what felt like 27 dresses (not the movie, unfortunately – that might have been less painful). And do you know how many we left with? Zero. Nada. Zilch.

Apparently, we will be venturing out again next weekend, where I assume my opinion will once again be as useful as a screen door on a submarine. But hey – at least I got some quality bonding time with my girl. And by “bonding,” I mean me silently calculating how much therapy I’ll need after this saga is over.

(Paige Gurgainers is a mom of three girls, digital journalist for Webster Parish Journal.)