In order to make myself available for drunch whenever the opportunity might arise, certain other aspects of my life tend to get squeezed into whatever snippets of time I have left over. Laundry, housekeeping, grocery shopping — mundane but necessary, I’ll admit. So considering that I tend to shop at a dead run, raking familiar items into my cart like some sort of crazed game show contestant with only seconds left on the clock, why can’t the makers of swim diapers make the packages look really, really different? Maybe they could add a few sequins or a little puff of maribou to the girls’ packs. The boys packs could come covered in dirt and shaped like a monster truck — a monster truck that transforms into a swim diaper!! Now we’re rockin’ and rollin’! Seriously, all I’m saying is this…if they’re going to insist on being all gender specific at this tender age, then they need to go whole hog and not pussyfoot around it. As it is, the packages are virtually identical and the end result is what you see before you.
“Why are they wearin’ girl’s pants?” Jack asked.
“Those aren’t girl pants,” I replied huffily, as I readied his three brothers for a romp in the kiddie pool.
“They’re pink!” he insisted.
“That’s not pink,” I lied. “It’s just a light shade of red.”
“But there’s a princess on ’em!” Jack fired back, unswayed.
“That’s a mermaid. A mermaid is a fish just like Nemo.” In the face of my brilliant logic, surely night was now day and the mermaid pants were, in fact, just like the Nemo pants, only different.
Jack decided to abandon the fight in favor of digging in the dirt, but headed out the door grumbling under his breath, “Still looks like girl pants to me.”
The price for drunch is high.
