I’ve been getting dressed on my own now for more than 35 years and I haven’t had any really huge problems. Oh sure, back in my closed head injury, rehabilitation hospital days I couldn’t put my pants on while I was standing up, but that only lasted about a month or two and give me a break…I had just spent a month in a coma!
However, as far as getting my clothes on my body correctly, I’ve never had all that much trouble. Okay, who hasn’t put a t-shirt on backwards by mistake once in a while, but you look in the mirror, see that the design that should be on the back is now facing the front and you turn it around.
Other than that, I just can’t comprehend how a person could accidentally put their clothes on backwards…it’s just too hard to do!
That being said, we were at a birthday party for one of my wife’s aging family members. Other than my wife and my father-in-law, I really didn’t know that many people. One of the people I know (who we’ll call Uncle Guido) was there, which always makes things fun. At times things with Uncle Guido can be a bit kooky and bizarre, but fun all the same. I really like Uncle Guido.
At one point my father-in-law looked around and noticed that Uncle Guido was nowhere to be found and we hadn’t seen him for quite some time. He rode with my father-in-law, so we knew he had to be there somewhere, but he was missing.
After checking the restroom, my father-in-law came back with a puzzled look on his face. “I found Uncle Guido.” He said trying not to laugh. “He was in the restroom and it seems that somehow he’s had his pants on backwards all day.” At which point we all lost it.
The roars of laughter brought several of Uncle Guido’s cousins over, all of whom were quickly informed of his clothing faux pas. By the time Uncle Guido emerged from the restroom, half of the people there knew what had happened and were giving him odd looks. Luckily for Uncle Guido, he’s a bit used to this type of attention and can easily join in the laughter. That’s one of the things I really like about Uncle Guido.
As the laughter slowly died down, I found myself wondering how this could have happened. I mean it’s not like a t-shirt where the only real front/back indicator is the tag. On no, pants have a very definite front and back. You don’t have to look down to know if you’re wearing your pants correctly.
Next, what about the zipper? How do you put your pants on and not know that your zipper isn’t in the front?
As it turns out, after getting to the party, Uncle Guido had gone to the restroom, for what I am forced to assume was the first time that day! He got into the stall, but couldn’t find his zipper! After searching, he somehow found it in the back. He then had to undress and redress right there in the restroom.
My only assumption is that Uncle Guido is somehow able to just step in and pull up his pants with them already zipped and fastened. A possibility that we won’t explore, but would probably be quite funny in it’s own right.
And let’s not forget about the pockets. Uncle Guido was wearing everyday, run-of-the-mill kaki pants. Wouldn’t the inability to put your wallet in one of your now missing back pockets throw up a red flag? Add to that the fact that your front pockets are now almost impossible to get your hands into and you’ve got a garment quandary beyond compare.
For whatever reason, nothing seemed out of the ordinary when Uncle Guido got dressed that morning and he somehow managed to live for more than half the day with his pants turned in the wrong direction.
I suppose there are items of clothing that would be more difficult to accidentally put on backwards, but for the life of me, I can’t think of what they might be.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Thursday Night Club
My freshman year in college was a magical time for me. I hadn’t yet received the Frictional Impact Explosives pamphlet, but things were exciting all the same.
Somehow this introverted, fairly mild mannered young man managed to be the only person from the Houston area that I knew of to attend this small Baptist university in Abilene Texas.
I spent the first few days of freshman orientation hoping to meet someone, anyone from the Houston area, but it was not to be. As it started to become apparent that I wasn’t going to find anyone from the southeastern part of the state, I began to realize that being cut off from my world could prove to be interesting dilemma.
I was far from home in a land where nobody had any preconceived ideas about who Hugh is, was, or should be. That’s when I realized that no matter what I said, what I did, or how I acted the people wouldn’t have the slightest idea if I was being myself.
I realized that, if I were so inclined, I could change my whole personality.
Changing my personality sounded fun and easy. All I had to do was choose the personality traits I enjoyed in others and mimic them until they stuck. It was an easy plan.
So there I am, fumbling through my first few weeks of my freshman year and trying to reinvent myself at the same time.
That’s when I met Gregg. Although I was quite sure he had one, I couldn’t have told you Gregg’s last name to save my life. I don’t think I ever even heard his last name until my senior year when we were roommates. To me he was just always “Uncle Gregg.”
I don’t remember exactly where the name came from, but I think it had something to do with my calling his then girlfriend, now wife, “Cousin Lisa.”
Anyway, Uncle Gregg tells Dan (from my explosive adventures) and me about The Thursday Night Club, of which he was a member in good standing. And we decided that we should go check it out, just to find out what it’s all about.
As the name might suggest, this club met every Thursday night. The location of choice for the TNC was a frozen yogurt shop on the east side of town right near Abilene Christian University. The fact that the club had chosen this particular place as its meeting place was a big enough honor to the owner of the establishment that he bought and paid for a plaque for the wall that had each member’s name engraved on it. Along with our motto and sacred words.
As we arrived, the first thing I noticed was the lack of pomp and circumstance. This was no formal ceremony. They didn’t even own a copy of Robert’s Rules of Order.
The first thing I had to do was stand up and in 10,000 words or less (and the words “or less” were strongly stressed) tell why I was there and what, if any, good would my being a member of the TNC bring to myself, the TNC, or the world in general.
I said something like, “I’m not quite sure what good will come out of this...but”
And I was cut off mid-sentence by thunderous applause and an earnest plea for me to have a seat.
And that’s when I realized that, without knowing or even asking, I was being initiated into the TNC. At first I wasn’t too sure if I wanted to be a member, but then I just shrugged and thought “ what the hell”.
The next phase of my initiation was the memory test. I had to memorize the motto, the sacred words and the official TNC song.
The motto: Apathy and Undiscipline
The sacred words: Riloto Wue Mugabe - pronounced, ri-loe-toe, way, moo-ga-bay - (Nobody’s really clear about what they mean)
The song: “It’s been lonely on the saddle since my horse died…and we don’t give a rip!”
After taking two minutes to memorize these very important pieces of the TNC’s heritage, I found myself starting the third and final stage of the initiation.
The reflection stage.
For the reflection stage I simply had to take my yogurt, stand in the corner facing a kind of a palm tree plant and silently reflect on my new life as a TNC member.
As I stood there reflecting/listening to the conversation of my brothers I was suddenly struck by the thought that I had no idea how long the reflection part of the initiation needed, or was supposed to last. Then I thought about the motto – Apathy and Undiscipline. That’s when I turned around and had a seat with my new Thursday Night Club brothers.
My time of reflection took only about 30 seconds, but I did some good thinking.
I sat down and asked, “If apathy and undiscipline are truly cornerstones of the TNC, then it seems that if I don’t care enough to have the discipline necessary to remember to come to the meetings, then I’m being the best possible member I can be…is that right?”
Through mock tears they welcomed me into the brotherhood and told me of the current TNC president. They pointed to one of the first names on the plaque and said he came the first couple of meetings, but hasn’t been back since. To tell the truth, nobody was even sure if he was in school anymore. For all they knew he might be dead.
And so began my life in the Thursday Night Club. The guys would turn out to instrumental in the whole “reinvent myself” phase of life that I was in.
On occasion, we would have theme night. Where you’d bring something, or dress a certain way…or maybe not. It really didn’t matter.
Then there was the time the producers of the school’s musical theme show called “Sing,” asked the TNC to pretend to be terrorists and storm in between acts and take over. The dress rehearsal just happened to be on a Thursday night, so after the rehearsal we went straight to the yogurt shop, still in costume.
We parked a little way down the street and snuck up on the shop with guns drawn sneaking between cars, diving, rolling and doing covert kinds of stuff.
After about 30 minutes of eating yogurt we noticed a police officer with gun drawn poking his head around the corner and cautiously looking in our direction.
As it turns out, somebody saw us and just assumed we were robbing the bank that was in the same strip shopping center and called the police. I don’t remember much more than an extremely agitated officer radioing back to his comrades telling them it was just a bunch of college students and that they can unblock the streets.
I had lots of fun adventures with my TNC buddies. All of which were impromptu attempts on somebody’s part to break up the monotony of the day.
I never joined a fraternity. It just didn’t seem like something I needed to do. I had camaraderie I needed without all the stupid stuff.
I came back to school after a summer break and found that the yogurt shop had been sold, or gone out of business, or burned down or something…I really don’t remember. Whatever the case was, it was gone and Thursday Night Club never had another official meeting.
Oh, we’d get together. We’d sing the song, or quote the sacred words or even do the secret handshake, (I forgot to tell you about the handshake!) but we never had anymore Thursday night meetings. We talked about it. I think it’s just that everybody seemed a bit too apathetic to go out of the way to set it up. A fact that I think makes us all the president.
As it turned out, It wasn’t really in a reinvent myself time of life, as much as it was a “find myself” time of life. I don’t know, maybe that’s what college is supposed to be. However, the TNC turned out to be a very easy going, unassuming group of friends who, possibly without even knowing it, allowed me to celebrate and enjoy being whoever it was I decided I wanted to be.
Thanks Uncle Gregg!
Thanks for introducing me to the Thursday Night Club.
Somehow this introverted, fairly mild mannered young man managed to be the only person from the Houston area that I knew of to attend this small Baptist university in Abilene Texas.
I spent the first few days of freshman orientation hoping to meet someone, anyone from the Houston area, but it was not to be. As it started to become apparent that I wasn’t going to find anyone from the southeastern part of the state, I began to realize that being cut off from my world could prove to be interesting dilemma.
I was far from home in a land where nobody had any preconceived ideas about who Hugh is, was, or should be. That’s when I realized that no matter what I said, what I did, or how I acted the people wouldn’t have the slightest idea if I was being myself.
I realized that, if I were so inclined, I could change my whole personality.
Changing my personality sounded fun and easy. All I had to do was choose the personality traits I enjoyed in others and mimic them until they stuck. It was an easy plan.
So there I am, fumbling through my first few weeks of my freshman year and trying to reinvent myself at the same time.
That’s when I met Gregg. Although I was quite sure he had one, I couldn’t have told you Gregg’s last name to save my life. I don’t think I ever even heard his last name until my senior year when we were roommates. To me he was just always “Uncle Gregg.”
I don’t remember exactly where the name came from, but I think it had something to do with my calling his then girlfriend, now wife, “Cousin Lisa.”
Anyway, Uncle Gregg tells Dan (from my explosive adventures) and me about The Thursday Night Club, of which he was a member in good standing. And we decided that we should go check it out, just to find out what it’s all about.
As the name might suggest, this club met every Thursday night. The location of choice for the TNC was a frozen yogurt shop on the east side of town right near Abilene Christian University. The fact that the club had chosen this particular place as its meeting place was a big enough honor to the owner of the establishment that he bought and paid for a plaque for the wall that had each member’s name engraved on it. Along with our motto and sacred words.
As we arrived, the first thing I noticed was the lack of pomp and circumstance. This was no formal ceremony. They didn’t even own a copy of Robert’s Rules of Order.
The first thing I had to do was stand up and in 10,000 words or less (and the words “or less” were strongly stressed) tell why I was there and what, if any, good would my being a member of the TNC bring to myself, the TNC, or the world in general.
I said something like, “I’m not quite sure what good will come out of this...but”
And I was cut off mid-sentence by thunderous applause and an earnest plea for me to have a seat.
And that’s when I realized that, without knowing or even asking, I was being initiated into the TNC. At first I wasn’t too sure if I wanted to be a member, but then I just shrugged and thought “ what the hell”.
The next phase of my initiation was the memory test. I had to memorize the motto, the sacred words and the official TNC song.
The motto: Apathy and Undiscipline
The sacred words: Riloto Wue Mugabe - pronounced, ri-loe-toe, way, moo-ga-bay - (Nobody’s really clear about what they mean)
The song: “It’s been lonely on the saddle since my horse died…and we don’t give a rip!”
After taking two minutes to memorize these very important pieces of the TNC’s heritage, I found myself starting the third and final stage of the initiation.
The reflection stage.
For the reflection stage I simply had to take my yogurt, stand in the corner facing a kind of a palm tree plant and silently reflect on my new life as a TNC member.
As I stood there reflecting/listening to the conversation of my brothers I was suddenly struck by the thought that I had no idea how long the reflection part of the initiation needed, or was supposed to last. Then I thought about the motto – Apathy and Undiscipline. That’s when I turned around and had a seat with my new Thursday Night Club brothers.
My time of reflection took only about 30 seconds, but I did some good thinking.
I sat down and asked, “If apathy and undiscipline are truly cornerstones of the TNC, then it seems that if I don’t care enough to have the discipline necessary to remember to come to the meetings, then I’m being the best possible member I can be…is that right?”
Through mock tears they welcomed me into the brotherhood and told me of the current TNC president. They pointed to one of the first names on the plaque and said he came the first couple of meetings, but hasn’t been back since. To tell the truth, nobody was even sure if he was in school anymore. For all they knew he might be dead.
And so began my life in the Thursday Night Club. The guys would turn out to instrumental in the whole “reinvent myself” phase of life that I was in.
On occasion, we would have theme night. Where you’d bring something, or dress a certain way…or maybe not. It really didn’t matter.
Then there was the time the producers of the school’s musical theme show called “Sing,” asked the TNC to pretend to be terrorists and storm in between acts and take over. The dress rehearsal just happened to be on a Thursday night, so after the rehearsal we went straight to the yogurt shop, still in costume.
We parked a little way down the street and snuck up on the shop with guns drawn sneaking between cars, diving, rolling and doing covert kinds of stuff.
After about 30 minutes of eating yogurt we noticed a police officer with gun drawn poking his head around the corner and cautiously looking in our direction.
As it turns out, somebody saw us and just assumed we were robbing the bank that was in the same strip shopping center and called the police. I don’t remember much more than an extremely agitated officer radioing back to his comrades telling them it was just a bunch of college students and that they can unblock the streets.
I had lots of fun adventures with my TNC buddies. All of which were impromptu attempts on somebody’s part to break up the monotony of the day.
I never joined a fraternity. It just didn’t seem like something I needed to do. I had camaraderie I needed without all the stupid stuff.
I came back to school after a summer break and found that the yogurt shop had been sold, or gone out of business, or burned down or something…I really don’t remember. Whatever the case was, it was gone and Thursday Night Club never had another official meeting.
Oh, we’d get together. We’d sing the song, or quote the sacred words or even do the secret handshake, (I forgot to tell you about the handshake!) but we never had anymore Thursday night meetings. We talked about it. I think it’s just that everybody seemed a bit too apathetic to go out of the way to set it up. A fact that I think makes us all the president.
As it turned out, It wasn’t really in a reinvent myself time of life, as much as it was a “find myself” time of life. I don’t know, maybe that’s what college is supposed to be. However, the TNC turned out to be a very easy going, unassuming group of friends who, possibly without even knowing it, allowed me to celebrate and enjoy being whoever it was I decided I wanted to be.
Thanks Uncle Gregg!
Thanks for introducing me to the Thursday Night Club.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Ben Franklin and People Watching
I love watching people as they carry out their normal daily life activities. I’ll go somewhere and find myself engrossed in the daily happenings of people I neither know, nor will ever see again. I find people’s odd habits, quirky idiosyncrasies and daily happenings extremely interesting.
Watching people is a huge source of entertainment for me.
That being said, yesterday, Melissa and I were at eating at a Quizno’s near our house. We’re sitting there eating, talking and having a good time when I noticed a man having a hard time opening the hood of his car. Fancying myself as somewhat of a shade-tree mechanic, I found myself watching this guy with a kind of ‘should I offer to help?’ fascination.
It wasn’t long before a girl in an SUV pulls in next to the car. She gets out and it becomes quite obvious that she has come to help him jump-start his car. It didn’t take me long to see that jump-starting the car was something quite unfamiliar to both of them. The simple fact that they couldn’t find the hood release inside the SUV prompted me to shift from spectator to participant in this comedy of errors.
Hugh: “Should I offer to help?”
Melissa: “I’m quite sure you know more than he does.”
After our brief exchange of words, I headed outside to assist the fumbling duo.
Walking toward the couple, who was now working to untangle the jumper cables that looked old, but unused, I blurted out, “Can I give you a hand?”
“I think we can handle it” was his polite, yet persistent reply.
I shrugged, walked back inside and settled into my ringside seat. Then I gleefully waited for the upcoming attraction.
Right or wrong, the way I was taught to jump-start a car was to always start with the good battery and connect positive first, then negative. Then move on to the bad battery and connect positive first and then the negative, but not actually hook the negative to the battery, just ground it to something metal connected to the frame of the vehicle. I've always done it this way and I've never had any problems.
The first thing I noticed was that he connected his cables to the bad battery first, however I couldn’t see whether he connected positive or negative first. Then he connected the positive lead to the good car’s battery and slowly moved the negative end toward the battery…and that’s when the fun began.
In his defense, his slow negative cable movement may have been caution based, however, his puzzled expression communicated uncertainty.
When the negative cable got about two inches from the negative post on the battery, a spark shot up and he jerked his hand back. Throwing caution to the wind, he tried to quickly connect the cable with the same shocking results.
At this point he’s standing there with stinging hand and stinging pride, as the would-be good Samaritan sits laughing loudly not more than 30 feet away. (Which I’m quite certain he could hear) I tried not to laugh, I really did, but it was quite funny.
Somehow during my laughter he managed to get it hooked up and start the car.
Backing out he shifted his gaze in the direction of my amused grin and we made eye contact for the first time. Chuckling to myself I gave him a nod and a wave to thank him for the great show.
Watching people is a huge source of entertainment for me…see what I mean?
Watching people is a huge source of entertainment for me.
That being said, yesterday, Melissa and I were at eating at a Quizno’s near our house. We’re sitting there eating, talking and having a good time when I noticed a man having a hard time opening the hood of his car. Fancying myself as somewhat of a shade-tree mechanic, I found myself watching this guy with a kind of ‘should I offer to help?’ fascination.
It wasn’t long before a girl in an SUV pulls in next to the car. She gets out and it becomes quite obvious that she has come to help him jump-start his car. It didn’t take me long to see that jump-starting the car was something quite unfamiliar to both of them. The simple fact that they couldn’t find the hood release inside the SUV prompted me to shift from spectator to participant in this comedy of errors.
Hugh: “Should I offer to help?”
Melissa: “I’m quite sure you know more than he does.”
After our brief exchange of words, I headed outside to assist the fumbling duo.
Walking toward the couple, who was now working to untangle the jumper cables that looked old, but unused, I blurted out, “Can I give you a hand?”
“I think we can handle it” was his polite, yet persistent reply.
I shrugged, walked back inside and settled into my ringside seat. Then I gleefully waited for the upcoming attraction.
Right or wrong, the way I was taught to jump-start a car was to always start with the good battery and connect positive first, then negative. Then move on to the bad battery and connect positive first and then the negative, but not actually hook the negative to the battery, just ground it to something metal connected to the frame of the vehicle. I've always done it this way and I've never had any problems.
The first thing I noticed was that he connected his cables to the bad battery first, however I couldn’t see whether he connected positive or negative first. Then he connected the positive lead to the good car’s battery and slowly moved the negative end toward the battery…and that’s when the fun began.
In his defense, his slow negative cable movement may have been caution based, however, his puzzled expression communicated uncertainty.
When the negative cable got about two inches from the negative post on the battery, a spark shot up and he jerked his hand back. Throwing caution to the wind, he tried to quickly connect the cable with the same shocking results.
At this point he’s standing there with stinging hand and stinging pride, as the would-be good Samaritan sits laughing loudly not more than 30 feet away. (Which I’m quite certain he could hear) I tried not to laugh, I really did, but it was quite funny.
Somehow during my laughter he managed to get it hooked up and start the car.
Backing out he shifted his gaze in the direction of my amused grin and we made eye contact for the first time. Chuckling to myself I gave him a nod and a wave to thank him for the great show.
Watching people is a huge source of entertainment for me…see what I mean?
Friday, July 14, 2006
Baby Bug Pictures...
We got her!
Check out Melissa’s new ride. (If I'm good I get to drive it too...on occasion)
She’s a blast to drive, gets great gas mileage and looks cool to boot! Although we’ve been flirting with triple-digit temperatures here in Dallas, we haven’t driven with the top up very much.
Thank you to my father-in-law, for making the deal of the century!
Happy Driving...cause it will be for us!
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Please Bug Me!
I wrote here all about getting my new Chevrolet Trailblazer and I mentioned my father-in-law, who I referred to as “possibly the world’s best car shopper.” However, after this week, I feel that I must take the word ‘possibly’ out of that statement.
He and I have spent about a week shopping for a convertible Volkswagen Bug. (Click here to see what we’re looking at) In all honestly, all I’ve had to do is stand there and try not to look like an idiot…a task which shouldn’t be all that hard, but at times taxes my acting ability.
There are only four VW dealers in Dallas and we’ve gone to or talked with each of them multiple times each day. “We’re going to go slow here. They know we’re talking with all the other guys and if they’re hungry enough they’ll keep making us lower bids.” And he was right.
He and I talked about car shopping back before my daughter went to camp and while I’ve been camp shopping and packing, he’s been doing research on VW. We walked in the first dealer and he knew everything there is to know about the VW Beetle. I’m talking about everything from the differences between a package one and a package two, all the way down to the nitpicky trim and tire size things that most dealers have to look up. He had also researched all the financing options that VW offers. He knew all the possible interest rates, rebates and buyer’s incentives that VW offers. I’m telling you he walked in there knowing as much as, if not more than, the average dealer.
That’s one way he gages the integrity of the dealer. He knows in about five minutes if the guy is shooting straight with us. One of the first guys we talked with came back with some interest points that were a point and a half higher than what he had found doing his research and we haven't been back.
We got out of the car at another dealer and he said, “Slow down, make them come to us.” Then he said, “Now I’m going to say some stuff in here that might shock you, but try to just look like it makes sense.” I don’t remember being shocked by anything he said, but percentage points and numbers were flying around like a whirlwind, so I was just sitting there trying not to look like an idiot.
All I know is I’m having the time of my life. I’ll post a picture of the new car when we get it.
It should be any day now!
He and I have spent about a week shopping for a convertible Volkswagen Bug. (Click here to see what we’re looking at) In all honestly, all I’ve had to do is stand there and try not to look like an idiot…a task which shouldn’t be all that hard, but at times taxes my acting ability.
There are only four VW dealers in Dallas and we’ve gone to or talked with each of them multiple times each day. “We’re going to go slow here. They know we’re talking with all the other guys and if they’re hungry enough they’ll keep making us lower bids.” And he was right.
He and I talked about car shopping back before my daughter went to camp and while I’ve been camp shopping and packing, he’s been doing research on VW. We walked in the first dealer and he knew everything there is to know about the VW Beetle. I’m talking about everything from the differences between a package one and a package two, all the way down to the nitpicky trim and tire size things that most dealers have to look up. He had also researched all the financing options that VW offers. He knew all the possible interest rates, rebates and buyer’s incentives that VW offers. I’m telling you he walked in there knowing as much as, if not more than, the average dealer.
That’s one way he gages the integrity of the dealer. He knows in about five minutes if the guy is shooting straight with us. One of the first guys we talked with came back with some interest points that were a point and a half higher than what he had found doing his research and we haven't been back.
We got out of the car at another dealer and he said, “Slow down, make them come to us.” Then he said, “Now I’m going to say some stuff in here that might shock you, but try to just look like it makes sense.” I don’t remember being shocked by anything he said, but percentage points and numbers were flying around like a whirlwind, so I was just sitting there trying not to look like an idiot.
All I know is I’m having the time of my life. I’ll post a picture of the new car when we get it.
It should be any day now!
Friday, July 07, 2006
Waldemar - Here we go again!
She’s gone.
We hugged, we kissed and we waved good-bye as the big white bus pulled out of the parking lot with my little girl onboard.
While we’ll be able to go online and see a pictorial account of the camp’s daily happenings. Complete with the occasional glimpse of our daughter. We won’t get to hug her again until August 6th.
While the hugs lasted longer than usual and the need to be near us was stronger than it normally is, this is her second year…and that makes her a veteran. There really weren’t any tears, at least not while the bus was still in the parking lot. Then mom and grandma had a few, but I think that was expected.
But now I’m back at home and wondering what I should be doing. Melissa has the day off, but her mom took her to a spa for the morning. I’ve already purchased tickets to the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie…but what next?
Could I be bored already?
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
A Time to Share...
I’m all for sharing. In my line of business you have to be. I’m forever saying, “I’m sure someone at your table will be more than happy to share with you.” And whether it’s a certain color of crayon, an eraser, scissors, or a glue stick, having students who are willing to share makes life in the classroom much, much easier.
However, I have to draw the line somewhere. Don’t I? I mean, you’re more than welcome to borrow my pencils, scissors, or glue sticks. And hey, I’m happy to loan you any and all the tools you need. (And I’ve got a pretty nice collection!) But if you come asking to borrow my clothes…well pal, that’s a whole different bucket of dead frogs.
Not borrowing clothes…I think it’s a guy thing. At least it’s a thing for this guy. Never in my life would I have dared to ask a friend if I could borrow his clothes. Okay sure, I borrowed clothes from Real Live Preacher from time to time. However, he’s my brother and besides, I don’t think he ever knew I had them.
Girls however, the ones I was around growing up, at least the vocal ones, and now my daughter, seem to have no problem loaning clothes.
Maybe it’s a result of needing a different pair of shoes to go with each outfit. Maybe it's a kind of female bonding ritual that I just don't understand. Maybe it's just the way God created the universe. Whatever the reason, girls just seem to enjoy lending and borrowing clothes.
Recently, a friend of my daughter’s called and asked to borrow a pair of shoes. Not only that, but she needed them for church that morning! So we took them to church so she would have shoes to wear with her new outfit.
Maybe my not understanding about sharing clothes stems from the fact that I don’t understand the whole female idea behind buying clothes.
What do I mean, “maybe?” I’m quite sure I don’t.
If you need a new pair of shoes to go with a new outfit, wouldn’t it make sense to buy the shoes you need when you buy the outfit?
Or is it that, when shopping, you only have to know that one of your friends has shoes that match the new outfit?
Whichever mindset is correct, this a whole new world for me. With each new day I learn more and more (sometimes way more than I want to) about being the parent of a teenage girl...and I'm not even there yet!
By the way, does anyone have brown ropers, size 10?
Because I got these new pants and well...
However, I have to draw the line somewhere. Don’t I? I mean, you’re more than welcome to borrow my pencils, scissors, or glue sticks. And hey, I’m happy to loan you any and all the tools you need. (And I’ve got a pretty nice collection!) But if you come asking to borrow my clothes…well pal, that’s a whole different bucket of dead frogs.
Not borrowing clothes…I think it’s a guy thing. At least it’s a thing for this guy. Never in my life would I have dared to ask a friend if I could borrow his clothes. Okay sure, I borrowed clothes from Real Live Preacher from time to time. However, he’s my brother and besides, I don’t think he ever knew I had them.
Girls however, the ones I was around growing up, at least the vocal ones, and now my daughter, seem to have no problem loaning clothes.
Maybe it’s a result of needing a different pair of shoes to go with each outfit. Maybe it's a kind of female bonding ritual that I just don't understand. Maybe it's just the way God created the universe. Whatever the reason, girls just seem to enjoy lending and borrowing clothes.
Recently, a friend of my daughter’s called and asked to borrow a pair of shoes. Not only that, but she needed them for church that morning! So we took them to church so she would have shoes to wear with her new outfit.
Maybe my not understanding about sharing clothes stems from the fact that I don’t understand the whole female idea behind buying clothes.
What do I mean, “maybe?” I’m quite sure I don’t.
If you need a new pair of shoes to go with a new outfit, wouldn’t it make sense to buy the shoes you need when you buy the outfit?
Or is it that, when shopping, you only have to know that one of your friends has shoes that match the new outfit?
Whichever mindset is correct, this a whole new world for me. With each new day I learn more and more (sometimes way more than I want to) about being the parent of a teenage girl...and I'm not even there yet!
By the way, does anyone have brown ropers, size 10?
Because I got these new pants and well...
Monday, July 03, 2006
Waldemar...Round 2
I wrote here about sending my daughter to camp for a month last year. It was our first year to send her to camp for more than a week and we spent almost the entire month of June getting her ready for the big adventure. We had lists to make and remake. We had clothes and tons of other camp stuff to buy. That plus all the last minute preparations almost killed me.
So I think you can understand why I wasn’t particularly looking forward to June this year.
However, now that she’s a seasoned veteran, things couldn’t have gone smoother. I guess it’s knowing what to expect that makes all the difference. Combine that with the fact that many of the “last minute” things that seemed to pop up last year were things that we were able to simply pack away and pull out again this year and that makes for a much easier, much less frantic packing experience.
We put her on the bus this Friday and the waters are calm…so far.
I’ll let you know how things turn out.
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