Fashion sense is not something prevalent on the paternal side of my family. On that side of my family there is more value on comfort than style, which I suppose makes sense. Until you look at yourself in the mirror. Honestly, I won’t be winning any fashion awards any time soon, but at the very least I don’t make myself stick out like a redneck in Starbucks.
I can remember many times in high school when my father would tell me he was going into town and asked if I wanted to go with him. Often this happened while he was working out in his shop and discovered he needed something. He worked in his old army fatigues, which were splattered with paint.
“Is that how you’re going?” I would always ask, while gesturing to his unsightly ensemble.
“Then I’ll stay here.”
The twins seem to have inherited this trait. I have often had to make them change before school for such reasons as wearing polos with athletic shorts, wearing clashing colors, or wearing a striped shirt with plaid shorts.
This morning I walked into the twins room to see what was taking them so long to get ready for school and happened upon Baby B, who was wearing black sweat pants and a button-up, black and white flannel shirt. A shirt which was also too small.
“Son, you can’t wear a button-up shirt with sweat pants,” I explained to him.
“But this shirt keeps me warm,” he whined.
“There are other shirts that will keep you warm. Besides, that shirt is too small.”
“No it isn’t.” That is the response I get from both of them when I inform them that an article of clothing they are wearing is too small. They think that as long as a shirt reaches their waistline that it’s big enough to wear. Never mind the fact that the sleeve barely extends past their shoulders or that raising an arm would expose their belly. Or that the shirt they are wearing is hugging them like a straight jacket.
“Yes, it is. Besides, no one wears button-up shirts with sweat pants.”
“Well, there is one other kid in our class that does,” Baby A interjected.
“And?” I asked.
“And he’s a little weird,” Baby A conceded.
I turned back to Baby B. “See? Just find another long-sleeved shirt – without buttons – and you’ll be fine.”
I then left the room to brush my teeth.
B came down a few minutes later when it was time to leave. He had his coat on and it was completely zipped up. I have my doubts about whether he actually changed his shirt. You can’t win them all, I guess.