Sometime over the last year my oldest son decided that blue jeans only would be his fashion statement throughout his entire high school career. Blue jeans are America’s clothing so what’s the problem? The problem is that we live in Arizona; where winter and spring may be ok for blue jean wearers, but summer and fall? Not so much.
I’ve tried bribing, cajoling, and teasing him into moving toward shorts, but today I got wise. Or maybe I should say my daughter got wise. While picking her up from a sleepover, I lamented that I’d tried everything, but didn’t know what else to do to get Jericho to wear shorts. She looked at me and said, “Mom, just hide his blue jeans”. Just hide his blue jeans? What a sneaky, great idea. Leave it to my high school bound daughter to come up with a way to annoy her older brother.
Because of summer break my son has become a night owl Xboxer with friends. This means he sleeps late into the afternoon. So, under the pretense of being a caring mother, I went into his room and grabbed his laundry basket, making sure I took all the blue jeans with me. I then proceeded to put them in the washing machine. Two hours later I heard him stirring and went to talk to him. When I finally told him what I’d done, he looked at me as if he didn’t really care. All my sneakiness and he didn’t really care. All he said was, “Did you take my wallet out of the pocket?”
Take your wallet out of the pocket? What do you mean? You just started carrying a wallet and I didn’t feel it in the pocket? Was their money in the wallet? No big deal, money will dry. No? No money in the wallet, but there was a Game Stop receipt with a code on it worth a little over $100. It’s for Destiny II which comes out September?
Crap! Surely the receipt had been protected by the wallet. I ran downstairs to check, but the machine had somehow stopped, mid soak. Sure enough his wallet was in his pocket and inside the wallet was a Game Stop receipt, a soaking wet Game Stop receipt. Even trying to figure out how to unfold it was a challenge. One wrong turn and I’d tear the receipt in two. My sweet 15 year old son was going to kill me!
Before he got downstairs, I’d managed to unfold the receipt without any tearing and there on the back was a nine digit code, a barely visible nine digit code. That receipt is now drying on the top shelf of my closet.