I was kind of wondering if my Type A/Anal Freak personality traits were genetic, and Zoe was kind enough to prove that they are.
And if you're wondering, this is her bookstore.
I Just bought Zach new shorts for the summer and had the hardest time finding a size that would stay o him, because this is the look that he is definitely NOT going for.
I'm still trying to decide what was funnier: A) Zoe laughing loudly at this guy while saying "I can see his butt! What the heck!?" of B) The look on the guy's face when he heard Zoe laughing at him.
I guess I should probably go to Target and buy Zoe her stupid inflatable pool sooner than I thought.
Although, according to her, this is not her pool: she is reading in her "hot tub."
The 80's called and they want their Zubaz back.
Just be glad I didn't take a picture of this guy while he was upright and walking around.
Apparently when a guy hits a certain age, someone just sends them a uniform to wear everyday.
P.S. Doug, I promise that if I ever see you wearing black socks with a pair of shorts, I will kill you.
This is straight from the department of W.T.F.
Kind of reminds me of the beef marrow bones.
Zoe learned how to put her own Band-Aids on. If you look closely enough, you can see Big Bird.
A couple days before Zach's high school tennis banquet, I told Charlie that he should go to the banquet with us because: A) he would be playing for the high school team next year and it would be good to start showing your support for the team now; B) It's nice to show support for family members, and C) I wouldn't have to make him dinner. For the next 48 hours, I ended up hearing the following phrases repeated to me from Charlie no fewer than 32 times:
- "So they aren't playing tennis at the banquet?"
- "What would I do there?"
- "Why do I have to go again? I'm just wondering."
- "Is Justin going to go? If Justin's not going, why do I have to go?"
- "Is there food there?"
- "Should I bring my racquets?"
- "So what is this for exactly, and why aren't we playing tennis?"
- "Seriously, I really have to go to this thing?"
- "What kind of shirt would I have to wear? What? But that shirt has buttons."
- "Are they eating before or after they play tennis?"
I tried to remain calm and controlled while replying to all of these questions and comments, but eventually my eyes rolled into the back of my head and I told him fine. Stay home because you obviously don't want to go. It's disappointing that you don't want to go. Oh my god I'm going crazy. Gee I'm so excited for when you have your own tennis banquets, I wonder if you'll even go to those. I'm mad. Yes, this is me being mad. Here's your stupid dinner. To which he replied, tearily:
- "Why do I have to stay home? I don't get it! Why don't I get to go?"
At this point I somehow managed to not throw back a shot of vodka, left Charlie to dine on his delicious ham sandwich and bowl of soup, grabbed my keys and walked out the door with Zach and Zoe. I had developed a thin film of sweat on my forehead but was otherwise feeling pretty great because I was actually wearing impractical footwear and a dressy outfit that didn't scream "Look at ME! I'm a MOM!"
And then -- THEN -- as we're getting in the car, Zach says "Hey mom, those pants are kind of bizarre. But whatever."
Feeling the love, that's all I can say. Feeling. The. LOVE.