Over the weekend, we headed down to the outlets to get me some pants. I don’t go shopping very often, but the situation was dire. Robbi declared a low-grade emergency. And Robbi is not one for histrionics. I trust when she told me that, were I to continue wearing the current cadre of pants, I was in danger of thoroughly embarrassing myself. And perhaps tarnishing our family legacy for decades to come.
While I tried on pants (and a few shirts, it turned out), the family waited patiently to see their better-dressed father emerge from the changing booth. The anticipation was palpable.
Eventually, decisions were made. A belt was added to the mix. Emotions were high. Everyone was excited about the prospect of being seen with the newer, better version of me.
It wasn’t until we got back to the car that we realized that something was wrong. Very wrong.
August, perhaps jealous of all my new threads, had taken it upon himself to shoplift a beautiful bracelet from the bin by the cash register.
I walked him back to the car, explaining as I did that lifting trinkets was a gateway drug to boosting cars, bank robbery, and maybe even tax evasion.
In spite of my severe tone and stern expression, the message didn’t seem to be sinking in.
All he wanted to know was whether he could wear the bracelet on the march back to the store.
He seemed so innocent, so sincere. How could I say no?
I must say, the boy rocks silver and turquoise better than most. Perhaps, once he starts drawing an allowance, we’ll go back and make an honest purchase.
