I was ironing some clothes, prepping for yet another day in paradise, when Jakob came sauntering into the laundry room (where I perform this daily sacrifice ritual. Every morning. What can I say? I’m far too lazy to drop off and pick up my shirts at the dry cleaners. Far too lazy.).
“Dad…” Jakob slightly whined, milling around the ironing board, shirtless wearing just a pair of track pants. “Do I have shirts to wear that I like?”
I glanced over at him, puzzled. Was this some sort of belated April Fool’s joke? Does he have any shirts to wear that he likes? What kind of question is that? How should I know? Even if I did know, the kid changes his mind what he likes, like the weather changes on an early Spring day.
“Yea.” I shrugged. “I guess.” I paused again. Still trying to wrap my head around his puzzle. “You have a shit ton of shirts in your drawer.” Now, I don’t know what the precise weight/measurement of a “shit ton” is, but believe you me…it’s a lot. I would say take it from me, the kid has a ton of shirts, but you can see for yourself.
“But, I don’t like any of them.” Jakob replied.
I nodded, placing the iron in the upright position. No need to burn the house down, while dealing with yet another existential crisis. “Of course you don’t.”
We stood there looking at each other for a long moment, like some sort of non threatening Mexican standoff (is that un PC of me to say? Mexican Standoff? I hope not. I don’t want to offend). If there’s one thing I hate dealing with when I have to leave for work in 20 minutes, it’s wardrobe issues. Nothing makes me crankier than having to deal with “I don’t have anything to wear” when we all know, again, you have a shit ton to wear.
Well, the only thing that makes me crankier is dealing with the printer after 9 at night (plug!!!!).
I blinked first. “What do you want me to do, Jake?” I asked, more than a little testy.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged.
At this point in the proceedings, your friendly neighborhood jman usually loses his shit, rampages through the house, pulls out not one, but two drawers full of shirts and makes a scene like you couldn’t believe. All while stringing cuss words together that would make a truck driving sailor blush.
But, this particular day? I channeled my inner Buddha and ignored the whole situation. Jakob must’ve taken the hint cause the next time I looked up from meticulously getting every wrinkle out of my shirt, he was gone.
As I was heading out the door, Jakob came downstairs to say goodbye, wearing a Superman shirt. Apparently, he did have at least one shirt in those drawers of his that he liked. Me being the good, non-tearing down parent, I didn’t say word one about the shirt. Oh, I could’ve, though. It was on the tip of my tongue. I could’ve made a scene. But, no. I kept my trap shut. We just said our goodbyes, neither one of us acknowledging his wardrobe crisis from a few moments prior.
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Resvior Dogs: johnmaynard.wordpress.com