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Talk about your persnickety dressers.
For whatever reason – and it didn’t come from her parents genes, because we do not possess the “persnickety chromosome” – our youngest is downright defiant and rebellious about what goes on her body.
Jeans are verboten. Anything with different colored short sleeves other than the main torso color of a shirt will not even be considered. Tags on the back of the neck? Like Rupe’s son at the same age, they must be removed. Oh ….. and she’ll do the removing, thank you, ‘cause Rupe’s not intelligent enough to do it properly.
Yeah, she may have just turned eight years old, but the teenage backtalk is well underway and past the formative stages. Did I say "well underway"? Scratch that: It’s just about fully developed.
The conversation about clothes went something akin to this this morning:
“It’s not summer anymore. You’re not going to be able to wear shorts any longer, don’t you understand that? It’s actually going to be cool out there today.”
“But Moooooooooooooooooooooom …”
I verbally stepped in: “Goof … look. Sometimes you’re just going to have to suck it up. There’s stuff that Mom and Dad don’t like to wear, either. That long-sleeved shirt and tie Dad had to wear the other night for that party? It wasn’t exactly comfortable, let me tell you. There are going to be times when you’ll have to deal with real life …”
She turned in a huff and stomped out of the room, trailing the following in her best whine: “But Dad … I just don’t like dealing with real life …..”
Rupe and wife did our best to stifle the laughter so she wouldn’t hear.
We did a pretty good job of it, too …..