Thursday, March 22, 2007

This Is How Rumors Get Started

The other night I tripped over a pair of Reha’s shoes. This in and of itself is not unusual. Reha leaves her shoes everywhere (once I found a pair in the oven, no lie!) and I’m clumsy. No, what was kind of weird was that I found them in Lucas’ room.

One pair of Ann Taylor black high heels.

Wha...?

I then figured out that Carrie had borrowed them and in the grand tradition of all the Deal children, not returned them to where they go: the middle of the laundry room, or the dishwasher, whichever is closer.

I ask Lucas about it, because I can tell this is going to be an opportunity to embarrass my pre-teen oldest boy. Gunning for Father of the Year I am, yes indeedy.

“Hey, Lucas! What’s up with the high heels in your bedroom?”

“Uh… I don’t know?”

“Well, if you want to wear high heeled pumps, we’ll get you a pair or two in your size so you don’t have to borrow Mom’s.”

“I WASN’T WEARING THEM!”

“Lucas, my boy, no one’s saying there’s anything wrong with it. It’s a little gay, but that’s OK. You go gay on us, your mother and I will always love you. No big deal, man.”

“Dad, you’re weird.”

So, during junior high car pool yesterday morning, I had to open my big fly trap and bring it up in front of the two cute girls. This moved me right out of the running for Father of the Year and into “Psycho-Killer Bad Dad” territory.

“Hey, Lucas! So, are we going to Nordstrom tonight to buy you a nice pair of stilettos? You know, so you can stop borrowing Mom’s shoes?”

“Daaad!” Oh, the horror and the whine in his tween-er voice.

By evening he was apparently over it. So I say to Reha, with Lucas standing right there, “Do you think we should be at all concerned that Lucas wears your high heels?”

Lucas popped right up, “Well, yeah, those things end up hurting my back after wearing them all day.”

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