Monthly Archives: August 2013

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I often wonder why I volunteer for certain tasks, but I continue to seek the painful.  Like this past week, when I naively said to my 13 year old son, “Hey, why don’t we go shopping for school clothes?”  Really, shouldn’t dad be sharing this bonding moment?

It may help to clarify that I am not exactly the ‘shopping enthusiast’.  I may just hold the record for speed buying and my wardrobe can prove it.  Trying to be the ever efficient mom, I boldly went where most likely, no mom should go.

We started in the shoe department where I was informed that all styles on display were ‘lame’ and ‘so last year’.  On to the underwear department where I was taught a lesson in several fabrics and holding shapes.  Truly, microfiber jockeys are ‘so this year’ and invaluable information apparently.  Exactly where did he gain that knowledge?  Infomercials?

Now at the T-shirt racks, I am feeling somewhat more safe and confident.  That was quickly shattered as I was informed that the V-necks I was presenting showed ‘too much cleavage’.  Seriously?

Jeans were enlightening as well as I learned that some were ‘mom’ jeans, some were ‘geek’ jeans, and even others were ‘shaped for idiots’.  I finally manage to find ‘acceptable, not too bad’ jeans and convince him to try a pair on.  Several minutes later he emerges without them on and says, “They fit.”  Like, what does that mean?  I quickly came to realize that he didn’t really care, because there was a girl at the entrance of the dressing rooms that was ‘hot’.  Oh, please help me.  Yes, we had the conversation about her being cute or pretty, and to please only refer to her as ‘hot’, if she is in fact, overheated.

Lastly, was the ongoing conversation throughout the store about the Rolex that he wished to purchase and that he wasn’t going to settle for a fake.   Not realizing a couple had been overhearing our banter, we finally make it to the checkout area.  At this point, the man breaks into a dissertation about Rolex watches and their cost and how to determine when they’re fake.  He was actually seriously sharing his knowledge.  I would have been more annoyed, except for the fact that my son just stood there with a completely priceless look on his face.  Eyebrows arched, completely still, disbelief spilling over.  Of course the entire time, I am behind the guy laughing.  After listening to him my son said, “Thanks, I feel like I’ve learned a lot.”  As we walk on, I am cracking up and he says to me, “Thank you for that, Mother.”  The laughing continues.

We ended our little adventure at the checkout with a guy that was so dull, that my son concluded he must have run out of his meds.  The gene pool study on this kid is still out, but I must admit the pain was indeed worth it.