It seems like only yesterday he was learning to tie a tie for the very first time.
But in fact, it was about three months ago and that tie? So last week. So boys department. This time we are headed to menswear. The grown up stuff. At grown up prices.
But it's got to be perfect. This isn't some middle school orchestra event we are preparing for. This is the high school homecoming dance. You only do this once right? Or at least no more than once a year for the next four years. Not counting college.
He's got a date. I've got a credit card and all the fashion know-how my Esquire subscription can impart. Boy, Esquire is almost friendly as we prowl the aisles, trying on sport coats, pairing ties with dress shirts. He favors a black jacket, red shirt combination. Gangsterish, I tell him. "Cool," he says, reaching for a fedora to complete the look. "No," I say. "Not cool."
We settle on a burgundy shirt and a dotted tie. He has black pants at home, so the bill comes to only about a week's groceries. When we get home, we discover last year's pants don't fit and his date will be wearing pink. The burgundy shirt and tie combination is suddenly all wrong, we are back in menswear and we realize we need a belt as well. I have enough receipts in my purse to kindle a reasonably-sized fire. But the memories - priceless.
I mean, just look at him:
Okay, this is actually someone else's son. When I told my son I wanted to take a picture, he reacted as if I had asked him to save me a dance. Which killed me, because he looked so handsome and grown up in the grocery money clothes.
At least I imagine he did. He snuck out to a friend's house where they were all meeting up before the dance to take pictures. For their Facebook pages.
Here is the picture I got: