What's Mine Is Mine and What's Yours Is Ours

So I admit that I've uttered these words on occasion, but usually in connection with closet space; specifically my husband's closet or shelf or desk or cash or...

Imagine my shock and chagrin when I heard these words pouring forth from the lips of my daughter, the Demon Child?! Yes, it seems that in the past few months she has grown taller and slimmer so that now she can fit into MY clothes and shoes. And she's decided that she even likes some of my stuff. What happened to the Teenage Fashion Police of just a few months ago who hated EVERYTHING I wore? Wonders will never cease.

The thing is, I'm not very good at sharing because I never had to do it growing up. My sister is almost 10 years younger than I am, so by the time I got married, she was just a young teenager. My mother has had weight issues for the past 50 years, so sharing her clothes was never an option. And my husband's taste in clothing is conservative and traditional and just plain boring; plus most of his casual stuff is 25 years old and ugly.

But the real kicker is that I'm not allowed to touch ANYTHING in the Demon Child's closet.

"So darling, how come you can wear my clothes but I can't wear yours?"

"Because I'm amazing, Mom. And you're old. Don't be like those other West Van moms who try to be teenagers. It's gross." She may have a point but I'll never admit that.

"But what about this sweater of yours? It's kind of cute and you haven't worn it in a while" -- I could nab this right now and she'd never notice!

"Ew Mom. NO! That came from Aritzia. You can NOT wear anything from Aritzia. It's only for teens and girls in their 20s." - somehow this doesn't seem quite right!

I know I'm in big trouble when her laser focus pins me to the wall and she boldly proclaims, "I like that top you're wearing Mom. I think I'll just have to steal it from you."

And she does. Especially now that she's on a budget, she loves shopping for free -- in my closet and drawers.

So I've started hiding anything I really like that I want to keep to myself in various closets and drawers around the house (except hers obviously), under my husband's piles of junk in his office and in the scary storage room (the crawl space under the living room). Because you see, when she returns something to me, it has holes in it or has shrunk two sizes or is totally ruined. Or she simply keeps it forever, like the classic Coach tote bag I bought 20 years ago when I first started making real money. Somehow it vanished into her room, never to return.