The other morning, Trey and I were hollering, I mean gently wooing, at Graham to get his batookis downstairs because it was time to leave for a birthday party.
He comes bounding down the stairs in a white T, khaki cargo shorts, no-show socks, and his black school shoes.
With the unity that comes with experience in the ways of 'child self-dressdom', Trey and I told him he might need to change something about his outfit. His black lace-ups with his shorts made him look a little like a grandfather. Not my grandfather in particular, just a grandfather in general.
For the record, my grandfather, Irv, prefers trousers. And suspenders.
Anyway, Graham starts giving a little push-back and out of no where, Dea says, "Man, you just need to put on some slides."
We look over at Dea and Trey and I immediately crack up. Dea is wearing Graham's exact outfit except with slides instead. As soon as Graham realized he had accidentally dressed almost exactly like his big brother, he couldn't run upstairs to don his slides fast enough.
And try as we might, we could not persuade either one of them to set their toes free from the fashion nightmare that is sandals with socks.
It makes my feet sweaty just looking at them.