The White Flag of Surrender (Made of Underwear)

If you want to feel old and out-of-touch, take a teenage boy shopping for pants.

I am waving the white flag of surrender. Made of tighty-whities.

You see, I have been jean shopping for my sixteen year old son lately. It's taken us over a month to find something I will pay for. And don't make me want to disown him. Or run up behind him and yank the saggy butt part of his jeans down with one (not so) wild jerk.

What is up with kids? Why does my son find it necessary to let everyone in the universe see his underwear?? He would die if he knew I told you all he wears boxer-briefs...but he has no problem letting the state of Colorado know...he doesn't even care that everyone knows what color they are.

(In order to help some of you other parents rank a little higher on the - unwritten and constantly changing - "cool scale" than I do...apparently, singing "I see London, I see France, I see the mutant's under pants...Might be yellow, might be pink, all I know is they sure do stink!" is not funny to a sixteen year old man-boy. Especially when sung - kind of loudly - in front of his friends...by his decidedly uncool mother. They don't think it's funny even when they're on the phone.)

I threatened to wear my pants pulled down around my knees. Yep, I threatened to "sag". His face froze, contorted in fear, the likes of which I don't recall ever having seen before. Except the time I tried to make conversation with some girl he liked, when she called while he was out getting the mail.When he walked back into the house and found out who I was talking to, you could actually feel the earth stop rotating for a moment. It was like the sound of crickets chirping was some how jacked up by the universe - because that was the only sound audible for several long seconds, while (I assume) he was swallowing his heart back into his chest.

Back to my threat to "sag". I told him I would pull my jeans down around my knees - and go out in public like that. Probably on a day when he would be surrounded by friends. And that I would wear my "mom underwear" - you know, the really hideous pair every woman has shoved to the back of their drawer, that they just can't throw away in case they need it on laundry day or something, but that they never actually wear.

He didn't know this was just an empty threat. That I could never get my pants pulled down like that (because the waist isn't big enough - or isn't big enough to fit like that), and that I would never intentionally embarrass myself like that. (I do well enough embarrassing myself when I don't intend to - I really don't need to work at it.) But that's a mom's prerogative...to occasionally make up crazy things. Things just insane enough to keep her children wondering how imbalanced she actually is. Constantly keeping the 'beasts wondering just how beserk I am is one of my survival skills.

I don't even know how the man-boy can walk. He's gone through countless belts because they don't stretch when he sits down - and they are right around his bum, which increases in girth when you go from standing to sitting. There have been many times when he's walking somewhere, and we all have to stop and wait because he's got to reach down and grab his pants in order to keep them up. Many other times, he's lost them completely - his hands will be full and he'll be waddling along, pants down around his ankles. He's not the most coordinated child, either (must get that from his mom) - and the ankle drooping pants only work against him, to trip him up. Yet he's lost on why he would trip with his pants like that. Just as he's lost when he is unable to find "his size" in most stores. I always try to look surprised that 44x30 isn't a common size.

I'm sure in reality he probably wears a 38x36. Which, for the record, I've had him try on. He claims he can't get them over his thighs. Who am I to argue? I'm just the mom. I suppose I should let up since I'm not the one wearing them. Then again, I am the one subjected to seeing his constant "plumber's butt".

I may have given you the impression this is how he only wears jeans, which would be false. He also wears his Dockers like this, which caused a "discussion" every morning before he left for work (when he was working). Or when we're going to church. Or anywhere else. Which is what finally did me in.

I think I may try sagging - if only in my own home. (Remember, I want them to wonder about my sanity and just how far I'll go with things - not actually be fitted for a straight jacket. Again.) I've decided it really doesn't matter where I sag, it's the sagging in general that will mortify my offspring - and hopefully make them question my sanity unlike they ever have in the past. I'm thinking the idea of seeing a parent sag just may be perturbing enough to get my point across. I've already contemplated the long term results of such an action, and my conclusion is the same as it usually is...the 'beasts will already be in therapy blaming me for everything anyway, why not just add this to the list? I can always deny it later.

Maybe this would be taking it too far? I mean, it could seriously damage them to see their mom in her undies - whether I'm wearing pants around my knees or not. I don't want to do something akin to walking in on your grandma/grandpa while they're in the shower, changing clothes, or worse - getting amongst it. The 'beasts drive me nuts - but I do love them and don't want to damage their psyche. At least not in some really awful way that will never go away. I want to prove my point and get him to stop sagging, but I don't want to do something that would equal seeing your parents involved in some truly obnoxious incident on COPS, being set up on a blind date with your mom/dad, or accidentally hitting the wrong speed dial number on your phone only to "drunk dial" your grandparents.

Hmmm now that I really think about it, maybe I should contact my friend JD, who does all sorts of amusing things. She has a much better body than I do (just check out her nekkid post), and would probably do it - just so I don't have to.

xx,