Thursday, November 11, 2004

Black pants, white shirt

Remember band? Or orchestra, or chorus, or whatever performance group you belonged to in school?

Remember how you always had to have a uniform or a special t-shirt, or the dreaded "black pants and white shirt" ensemble? And remember how it had to be clean (and ironed) and ready for a performance you forgot to tell your mom about that was HAPPENING TOMORROW NIGHT!

Yeah, we all did it. So I guess I shouldn't be surprised that Jack pulled this crap on me less than 24 hours ago.

So, we went shopping. Shopping with Jack is not much fun. He's picky. He has expensive tastes. And he has the attention span of a fruit fly.

"Jack, stop looking at the wallets, the dress pants are over here." (Reply: "Dockers! God Mom, those are so not cool.")

"Jack, this white shirt is $15 cheaper, will it do?" (Reply: "No, that fabric is terrible, just feel it.")

"Jack, come out of the dressing room so I can see if the pants fit." (Reply: "Mom! They fit. Would you please get out of the dressing room!")

After hours of this wrangling, we finally made our purchases and got home in time to fall asleep from exhaustion.

So, should I be surprised that at about 6:45 a.m. this morning, Jack looks at me and says, "Mom, when are you going to iron this shirt? I can't wear it like that!"


Anonymous said...

It's a special day in every boy's life when they learn to use the iron.

We learned the hard way in the old white shirt/black pants battle.

Consequently, my brother allows nobody (not wife, not housecleaner, probably not even dry cleaner) to iron his dress shirts. Says only he can get the creases "just right."


Anonymous said...

My unashamedly sexist parents divided my brother and my chores along the ironing line. I did all the ironing and my brother cut the grass.

I don't iron anymore. Nathan will become very acquainted with all aspects of laundry. -- Carrie