Like most young boys, Son has an extreme aversion to formal wear. Given the choice between a necktie and a noose, I'm pretty sure he'd choose the noose. Getting him into a tux for his aunt's wedding required cunning and guile known only to members of the Mafia. Well, cunning, guile and a major bribe.
The excuses we hear about why he can't possibly wear anything but jeans and t-shirts are usually pretty entertaining; it's too big, too little, too red, the stripes clash with his hair (Don't ask. We still haven't figured that one out yet.) But he came up with one excuse that is my all time favorite.
The occasion was Son’s birthday a couple of years ago. To his very great dismay, his birthday fell on a Sunday, meaning that rather than spending an entire day indulging in whatever revelry and debauchery he had planned he was going to have to spend some of the day in church.
Never one to let an opportunity to tease Son pass him by, (Hubs figures it’s fair play since we are rapidly approaching the teen years when Son will make our lives worrisome and difficult so we might as well avenge ourselves while we have the chance.) Hubs announced, “Hey! Guess what? Since it’s your birthday and it’s Sunday, you can wear your birthday suit to church!”
As expected, Son was horrified. “No! There is NO WAY I’m wearing my BIRTHDAY SUIT to church!” Not only did I find Hubs suggestion humorous, but I also found Son’s reaction rather amusing, probably because the boy doesn’t even own a suit. Well I mean, he DOES have a birthday suit, of course, but it’s not really something he wears outside the house. (Though oddly he will wander about the house in it from time to time.)
Son's Sunday attire is comprised of Dockers, a dress shirt and a tie, and each item of clothing is so despised that it is removed from his person and thrown on the floor before the front door slams behind him upon his return from church.
Son's sensibilities were so outraged by the very idea of voluntarily wearing a suit of any kind, birthday or otherwise, that he apparently forgot the fact that he doesn't actually own a suit. He simply went straight to argument mode. Hubs was therefore able to keep the charade going for quite some time. With a perfectly straight face Hubs asked,
“Why not? It’s a suit. It’s a Sunday. It’s your birthday. What could be more appropriate?”
You know, it’s interesting how much pressure can build in my head without having it (head, not pressure) actually explode when one is trying to stifle laughter. And in our house, given our affinity for sadistic humor, being faced with the struggle of trying to maintain a straight face (not to mention an intact skull) is a fairly common occurrence. I have a lot of practice, but I still can’t quite keep a straight face the way Hubs can. Still, keeping in mind that tormenting our child is a noble endeavor, I kept things under control.
At least I did right up until Hubs asked, “But that suit is so cute. I think it’s the cutest little birthday suit I’ve ever seen.” Son was so incensed that he didn't even notice as I started to sputter. With a glare worthy of his grandmother Son announced,
“I’m NOT wearing my birthday suit. Not EVER. It’s old and it’s wrinkled and it itches.”
Well, I’m afraid I can’t argue with him there. Although from what I can tell, his birthday suit is probably in pristine condition (if you overlook the scabbed knees and various bruises, that is.)
I do sympathize, though. My birthday is approaching in a couple of days and I have to say my birthday suit is getting old, wrinkled and itchy too. I guess it happens to the best of us.