The Kid and his Clothes

Last spring, Prince was invited to a party.  It was a Sweet Sixteen party for a friend at school.  It was a very formal, Black and White kind of deal.  A soccer fiend who is at his most comfortable in athletic shorts and a tee shirt, Prince is also very particular about his clothes.  Shopping trips with him are horrendous because of that.

Slacks, shirts, shoes….socks…..it doesn’t matter.

I guess I should have realized what I was creating when I insisted – from an early age – that his clothes at least….match.  What he was wearing never seemed to bother him except when it came to socks.

He gave me fits about socks.

He didn’t like the seam at the end of the toes so we searched and searched to find some without seams.  And that was back in the olden days before manufacturers began catching on to his fetish.

It went on for years.

And then around mid elementary school he started having opinions about everything he wore.  The fabric had to feel right.  The colors had to be nondescript.  The neck had to be plain.  The length had to be just so.  The brand had to be the right one.  He drove  drives me nuts.

It hasn’t changed.

So since he didn’t have anything that was appropriate for the party, I wasn’t looking forward to a shopping trip to remedy the situation.  Neither was his Dad.  Neither was he.  But one evening  just before the big event we stopped in at my  favorite clothing store (and my only charge account) to ‘just look.’

He had nixed the idea of a jacket or suit right from the get go.  Slacks were on sale.  We found a black pair that he liked rather quickly.  Moved on to the shirts.  We had decided that a black shirt with a white tie would be the ultimate of cool.  White tie?  Check.  Since he was feeling so good about finding slacks and a tie so quickly, I snatched up a couple of black shirts and sent him off to the dressing room to try them on before he had a chance to say ‘not now.’  His dad and I waited outside. 

A shirt came out.  A very nice, silkish black shirt.  ‘Put it back.  Its too…black.’

A second shirt came out.  A heavier, cottony shirt.  “Put it back. It doesn’t feel right.”

HRH and I were rolling our eyes and shaking our heads and…almost….snickering about the dilemma.  We were never going to get out of there.

Meanwhile, the Princess, who is generally bored and disinterested on shopping trips that don’t involve pet stores or sporting good stores or skateboard anythings, meandered through the mens wear by the dressing rooms and asked, ‘why are we buying clothes for him?’  She stopped dead in her tracks when we said he had been invited to a party.

‘Someone invited him to a party?’

‘Wait….someone invited him to a party?’

Another shooper was standing by and covertly keeping an amused eye on my daughter’s obvious confusion.  I thought she would lose it when the Princess’  eyes got even wider as I reminded her about the  formal sweet sixteen party for his friend.

‘Wait……a GIRL asked him to a party?  Now why would she do that?’

Honestly, Princess, you can’t figure it out?

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