It was a dress-down day at school today, which means the kids get to wear their own clothes instead of uniform. Wooo.
When you have an almost-six-year-old boy there is really no problem with this beyond ‘does he actually own a pair of clean trousers and is there a top that he hasn’t smeared food or paint all over?”. And that’s just me. He doesn’t much care if his clothes are dirty or ripped or clash or, for that matter, fit him properly (although he objects to ‘too big’ more than ‘so small you can see my belly and ankles’, even in winter).
So we stomped between piles of snow towards the school, and I wasn’t giving the dress-down day much thought until I saw a gaggle of 8th Grade girls coming towards us.
Now, I know I risk crossing the threshhold into curmudgeonliness when I say this, and I know there is no going back, but in the interests of full disclosure, I have to confess.
I laughed out loud.
These girls had swapped out their short kilts and knee sock uniforms and now walked towards me, a veritable wall of skinny dark-wash jeans, Ugg boots, puffy jackets and long, straight hair.
I know. I know. But I can’t help myself. I have to say it: they had swapped one uniform for another.
Still, I bet they were warmer than usual.