Dress for Success

Time to upgrade the wardrobe

"You've been looking a little schleppy," I tell the eldest.  "Schleppy?" he says, visibly wounded. "Why must you hurt me so, mother?"  I walk over and spin him around.  "For starters, this shirt has three holes in the back." "So?"  "So it sends a message, one that says, starving student, not hire me now."  "Give me some credit.  I wouldn't wear this on a job interview," he says.  "I can't believe you even wear it out of the house."  "What's your point, mother?"  "It's time for an upgrade."  "I'm not buying old man clothes.  I don't want to look like dad." Whereupon hubby takes offense and starts weeping uncontrollably.  "Why must you hurt me so, son?"  "Forgive me, father.  I'm young and stupid."  "Tell me something I don't know."

For fortification, I down a few cocktails and off we go to the mall, to reinvent the recent college grad.  Word has it he's up for an actual job and against our better judgment, we're tampering with the laws of kina hora, and buying a few nice things "just in case."  God forbid, it doesn't pan out, not to worry, he has a back-up plan.  "I'm going back to Denmark," he says, while eyeing the merchandise at Macy's. "I'll establish residency, declare citizenship, claim poverty and live rent-free off the government."  I hand him a pair of flat-front Dockers.  "You're assuming they'll let you back in the country, after last year's debauchery."  "Touche, mother." "Try these on."  He tries them on. "They're old man pants."  "No, they're not."  "Dad wears these."  "Dad is employed."  "You're saying, if I get these pants, I'll be employed, too?" "It couldn't hurt."