by Sally Kingston
Clothing, unfortunately, is a requirement for participating in our society. You may wear, more or less, whatever the fuck you want, but I do draw the line somewhere. Guidelines follow.
- Your bottom must be covered. Underwear, pull-ups, a sparkly tutu, or a strategically wrapped blanket are all acceptable at home. I just don’t want to look at your junk while I’m drinking my coffee. No exceptions. Underwear AND pants must be worn in public. I know, I’m a tyrannical meany-pants.
- I will take responsibility for making you aware of current weather conditions (news flash- we live in the south, it is always freaking hot). I will make suggestions for weather appropriate clothing. I will NOT feel bad for you when you ignore these suggestions and wear mittens to the aquarium in August or one rain boot and one dancing shoe in the rain because it is “more fancier.” I will also not drive down the interstate with all the windows down because you are wearing two sweatshirts, it is 100 degrees out, and you are sweating. That sounds like a personal problem that you need to deal with.
- Yes, pink is awesome. Yes, sparkles are awesome. Yes, you can wear as much of both as you want. You go, boy. Ride that princess train.
- I don’t mess with your clothes. Please leave mine alone. Don’t tell me to take my hair down because it is “not pretty” in a ponytail. Don’t insist that my favorite shirt is “a yucky color.” And please, don’t borrow my shoes. Even if they make you feel fancy