A Shirt's Demise

Brighton HAD a favorite shirt. Cheapest one I have ever bought. Came straight from the quiet little town of Soperton where my Daddy owns a pharmacy/store that I would love to tell you about another time. When I bought it, I ordered 5 more for B’s best buddies. It’s one of, like, three he wants to wear every morning. You know how that goes. You also know when your kids are playing outside and it’s been…………. well, a WHILE since you have heard from them, you begin to wonder if they are still out there, alive. Just when I put down the kitchen towel to walk out and take inventory, Julia appears at the back door, eyes cast low and toe twirling on the floor. (Again, who teaches this posture?? Not me. I know I haven’t done this in at least 25+ years!-though Jeff may argue that) She says, “Mommy, you know that orange shirt Brighton has on? His favorite one with the number 13 on the back of it?” I am completely interested. “Yes.” “Well, it has, like, 2………… no, 3 holes in it.” Eyes still down and toe still dancing. As my curiosity mounts, she goes on. “He’s doesn’t know it, Mom.” Impatient to hear, I ask, “And how did the holes get there?” recalling the shirt was perfectly intact before they headed out to play. She finally unlocks the stare from the floor, looks up with a face of exasperation, remembering the moment, I guess, and says with hands flailing, “Well, I wanted Brighton to walk somewhere and he wouldn’t, so I ‘drug’ him!”

(In case you are concerned, I corrected her grammar later.)