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Last Saturday, Katie, Jackie, and I went to the mall. For the record, I dislike the mall. It’s actually worse than dislike — I’m not comfortable in the mall. When you combine Sbarro, Hot Topic, Cheesecake Factory, Brooks Brothers, Cinnabon, and kiosks peddling airbrushed hats with a lot of people walking around inside a huge building, it spurs anxiety for me. I feel this discomfort in every mall store except for Sears. Sears, I can deal with.

But, since JBJ came along, the mall has become a more enjoyable place. There’s something truly fun about seeing her reaction to all the different people and wall after wall lined with stuff.

On Saturday, we were browsing shoes and I found some fly pink Vans in a size 5. We secured Jackie’s little feet with the velcro straps and helped her to the floor so she could try them out. She walked directly to a handbag display, deliberately plucked a lavender purse from the rack, and proceeded to the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Katie and I watched on as she admired her couture for several minutes; we finally had to coax her away from her newly-accessorized reflection. Here are a couple of pictures.

Katie and I are baffled about the source of these designer genes. Neither of us care much about fashion. Granted, Katie is beautiful, as is Jackie, but that’s much different than being fashionable. My father (from whom I stole the title of this post) confirmed that my Granddaddy Buck liked tailored suits, but no other Jones would belong anywhere near a Milan runway unless an Alitalia 747 was involved. There isn’t an obvious high-fashion influence in Jackie’s daily life.

If she asks for a credit card for her second birthday, the answer will be “no.”