I hate shopping. I’m not exaggerating when I say I would rather scrub both of my toilets and fish Legos out from under my fridge, along with accompanying dustbunnies, than shop for clothing, shoes, purses, gifts, or anything. The only exceptions are Borders and Staples. For books, notebooks and pens, I will shop.
A second notice came home regarding tomorrow night’s performance of the Second Grade Musical. (The original notice called it the Second Grade Opera, but I think a couple hundred parents cringing in horror shifted a few too many tectonic plates and they decided to go with the slightly more appealing “Musical”.)
Wardrobe requirements: Plain white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans.
Seriously. I already bought the plain green t-shirt required for the African drumming performance. Do I really have to buy the kid another “costume”?
1) How many second graders own a plain white t-shirt? I’m betting none of the boys do. We have one Walmart and one Kohls (which I’ve entered twice, leaving both times emptyhanded and vowing never to return. No notebooks? Pens? WTF?) I’m guessing there won’t be any white t-shirts left in town by 5:30 tomorrow evening.
2) The Short Kid doesn’t own any jeans. I’m serious. He wears elastic waist khakis and sweat pants. (Though this was the last size for elastic waist. I’ve already told him he can’t wear sweatpants for the rest of his life. He claims he can.) He’s not built for jeans, which is entirely his father’s fault. Mostly. The poor kid inherited my long-waistedness and his father’s not-long-leggedness. To fit him in the waist and crotch, I’d have to fold the legs up 19 times to keep him from tripping. To fit him in leg length, the crotch catches up to him long before the button hits his waist.
Unfortunately the only “denim” elastic waist pants (Garanimals, maybe?) ended at size 7. I might have considered them just for the one night, but it was that soft, cheap, dark blue, cheesy fake-denim even I know isn’t cool enough for the opera.
I’ll try to get a good picture for y’all tomorrow night. The Short Kid will be the squirming, slightly bow-legged one tripping over his pantlegs.