Our younger son is graduating this year. We’ve been through it once already with our older son and it was a total friggin’ letdown: His tuxedo shopping spree lasted all of 47 seconds; he stopped for a haircut on his way to his graduation ceremony; and get this: he didn’t even rent a fighter jet to swoop down and deposit him onto the roof of the school for his prom entrance! WTF? He missed the entire point of graduation, which requires at the very least: endless hair, make-up and plastic surgery appointments; soul-crushing parent/child shopping trips (“Everything makes me look fat! I wish I were dead!) and a second mortgage. Duh.
I had held out hope that this time around would be better, but so far it’s not looking good. Just yesterday the boy dropped a bomb on me. He looked up from his iPhone (ha ha! Good one!) and mumbled, “Grad pics tomorrow, Mom.”
I stiffened. “Tomorrow?? Sweet Mother of all things holy, you’ve got to be kidding me!! Don’t you need a haircut?? A shirt and tie? A spray tan?”
He responded with the same urgency his brother showed when I went off my meds/rocker with him: “Nah.”
“What will you wear??” My voice was in the soprano range now.
“Brett said the photographer has an emergency shirt and tie. It’s chill. Don’t worry about it.”
Emergency shirt?! OMG. Those two words should never appear in the same sentence when we are talking about photos that will live forever in perpetuity (AKA the yearbook), not to mention in the Christmas cards I will be sending to people who already pity me!
I tried to stay calm, “Max. You don’t know if this so-called emergency shirt will fit you. I’m going to the mall…which closes in 16 minutes by the way.”
He soothed my fears right away, “Mom, it’s not a real shirt. It’s a fake collar you just haul over your hoodie.”
Feeling much better that the emergency shirt is now a 25-year old, yellowed, mildewed collar, I pressed on, “But what about a tie??”
“There’s an emergency tie too. I just told you that. Gawd.”
“But don’t you want the tie to match your grad gown?” I persisted while belting back an emergency shooter(s).
“Doesn’t matter, Mom. Nobody cares about that stuff.”
Insert grand mal seizure.
I tried to put it into perspective for him: “What do you even think the point of graduating is for the loveofgod?? You’re making it sound like you get Photoshopped and airbrushed and the wind-blown look every day! Don’t you like the paparazzi-I mean, being photographed?? If you won’t get a hair cut, or your teeth capped, the very least you can do is wear a new effing shirt!”
I think he finally got what I was saying and I could tell by his response, “Whatever.”
Good thing he still has some color left in his face from the summer because he didn’t seem overly excited about the spray tan idea either. Screw it. I give up.