Yesterday in Spanish, instead of doing Spanish, which we usually don't do in that class anyway, we discussed parents and their clothing.
Danielle's dad apparently bought a pair of red and yellow plaid pants for her graduation. He bought them, he said, just to embarrass her.
I remember my eighth grade graduation. My dad bought the most hideous sweater he could find. It was brown and green (baby poop shades) and fuzzy. It was an atrocity. And he wore it to my choir concerts. And my awards ceremony. And my eighth grade graduation.
Another girl in my class said that her dad wears clothes, not even realizing how hideous they are. She says she's gotten used to it. Apparently her dad has a baby blue sweater with puffballs on it. The way she described it made it sound like my favorite sweater in sixth grade.
And then we flash back to last week, where I got out of play practice, going to a fashion show at Kent State, in my jean skirt and a nice shirt, along with my usual jelly shoes, thinking I looked pretty good. My dad was wearing a Ralph Lauren suit jacket and dress pants. "Yeah, I thought this was a dressier occasion," he told me.
Oh how times have changed.