Last White Dress Shirt Shopping Spree
To iron or not to iron. That is the question.
My how-many-days-until-I’m-eighteen year old son has to wear a uniform to his parochial high school. He’s done this for the past three years and two days.
The uniform consists of a navy blazer, gray dress slacks, a white dress shirt buttoned to the collar and a tie. Unless you’re going for a varsity letter in demerits, this rather dapper attire must be on and in place from the time one’s butt crosses the threshold inbound until it is granted egress midafternoon.
I, however, as the woman whose uterus was contorted like playdough for nine months, and whose lower half was asked to do things that would cause nightmares in grown men a la twenty-three hours of labor, an epidural and a C-section, have not been allowed to see my son in full Catholic high school regalia.
No. Not me. My status as incubator and loin launcher entitles me only to my son’s just-pulled-this-stuff-from-the-pile-in-the-middle-of-the-floor look.
Which is one more reason I gave up ironing those damn shirts two weeks into freshman year.
August 29th, 2006 at 12:05 pm
This is why I am glad I went to public school. All I had to do was yank a T-shirt and jeans out of the closet and I was good. :)
August 29th, 2006 at 2:39 pm
Do you feel my pain, Ry?