Thursday, January 22, 2009

Bus Stop Underwear

Today I just had to write about how much I don't know.  

Why is it, that when I'm freezing my butt off with the heat cranked up in my house, my thirteen-year-old tries to go out with just a thin sweatshirt?  We live in Connecticut, for heaven's sake--it's a million below out there!  

This year, I even relented and bought her a way-overpriced coat from the way-overpriced-shoddy-quality mall store that she loves.  And does she wear it?  It looks really nice on the floor of her bedroom and it matches quite nicely with the arm of our living room couch.  

My friend, Monique has figured it out, though.  She has four kids and she's got it down pat.  Her husband will rush out to the bus stop in his boxers, yelling, "you forgot your coat!!!"  I'm pretty sure their kids wear their coats to bed now. 

I need to go do a load of laundry.  I have to make sure my husband's underwear doesn't have any holes in it.

4 comments:

Tim Haywood said...

Sometimes I like to experience all of the benefits of being naked outside without being outside, so I just stand in front of the window.

Annie said...

And why wouldn't you?

gael lynch said...

We used to live in a house that was about 75 yards long and it extended downhill toward a major thoroughfare. My husband would stand at the top of the driveway sometimes waiting for the kids to get on the bus, so he could go down and retrieve the garbage can. The kids would beg and plead with him not to do this. He'd blow them off, telling them the other kids would just assume he was wearing a pair of shorts. Well, then there was me to consider. I never begged or pleaded, I knew it was no use! I'd be the one to get the "daily chuckle" from the neighbors behind that bus...the stream of cars moving ever-so-slowly, checking out those hot red boxers (oh I mean shorts) with the white hearts all over them!

Joy said...

I think it's just being thirteen. I grew up in Chicago. Think cold, then think death wish. Then colder and you've got it. My mother and I fought endlessly about my refusal to button coat, wear scarf, whatever. I thought my navy pea jacket looked so much cooler unbuttoned and hanging loose, with the scarf doing pretty much the same useless thing. Worn with short skirt and knee socks and of course, shoes, not boots. I was thirteen. I was hormonal and insane. How could the cute boys see what I was wearing if I was bundled up like an eskimo?