The daily digest of Twin Cities culture | Secrets of the City

It started like this:

My 13-year-old daughter walked into a room where I was reading and my husband was opening a bottle of wine (which she would tell you is what we're always doing, except when we're working or yelling at her) and said, "You remember when I went to Karl and Julia's when I was in third grade and their nanny let us slide down that huge dirt hill all afternoon and you got really mad because it was so dirty and dangerous?"

"Yes," I said, without raising my head.

It’s another spring evening at the Mall of America, where the Glitz store is in full bloom with taffeta and tulle. Pastel Cinderella dresses glimmer under the fluorescent lights, and the skirts bursting from these sleeveless bodices are so lush, they make the satin wedding gown I wore fourteen years ago seem downright drab. I touch the bejeweled outer layer of a particularly lovely dress, and then I see its $298 price tag, which further confirms the dowdiness of my own once-upon-a-time princess costume (now stored dutifully in a cardboard box in the basement, for posterity).