July 7, 2009


James stole a ratty pair of gym shorts (circa 1997) from our junk clothes drawer.

He apparently put the shorts over his head like a shirt, marched into the living room holding a solitary sock and looking like the cat who ate the canary.

"Shirt," he said. But, immediately, I realized that this "look" was much more akin to a toga.

"James! Nice toga, buddy."

He smiles proudly.

"To-ga. Toga. Nice."

Now, if he only was wearing his sister's pink sandals from earlier in the evening...

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