Alternate title: Designer Label Averse, Apparently.
The scene: my bedroom.
Jim, home for the first time since August, has handed me a pair of Calvin Klein denim shorts and questions to whom they belong.
“You, I thought…” I replied. “They aren’t yours?”
“No,” he said. “They aren’t my size and anyway, I don’t wear Calvin Klein anything.”
“Oh, maybe they belong to Dylan,” I said.
Sidenote: Dylan, who currently lives here full time, is so well-known for his love of wearing denim shorts that his college/fraternity nickname was “Jorts”.
Jim strolled into Dylan’s room and put the shorts on his bed.
About an hour later, I was back in my room putting some laundry away when Dylan walked in with the denim shorts.
“Uhhh,” he began, “I think these are dad’s. Definitely not mine. They’re not my size.”
“Are you SURE?” I asked. You’re the denim shorts guy and I could swear these were yours.”
“No,” he said. “They’re too big, and I don’t wear Calvin Klein. Maybe they’re Grandpa’s?”
*both of us laugh, slightly maniacally* (Grandpa wouldn’t wear Calvin Klein either.)
Jason arrives on the scene. He’s still in college and is only home for the weekend but it occurs to me that perhaps he has one solitary pair of denim shorts among his customary cargo shorts and athletic-style shorts. “Are these yours?”
“HA! Uh…NO,” he said definitively. “No way. And I don’t wear Calvin Klein.”
“You guys,” I said, “these denim shorts have to belong to somebody.”
Two hours later the four of us were in the car, on the way home from lunch and an errand at the mall. The denim shorts came up again, and again someone suggested they belonged to Grandpa.
*we all laugh*
“Dad, they’re yours!” Dylan said.
Jim said, “No they aren’t! They’re a size 34! Totally yours.”
Dylan vehemently disagreed.
I said, “Didn’t you get them a while back at Savers?” (Savers is a Goodwill-type of store where the boys have made some great second-hand jeans purchases in the past.)
He shook his head. “Absolutely not. And I don’t just go out and buy Calvin Klein clothing, you know.”
Back at home, I grabbed the denim shorts and looked at the tag. They are size 36, which happens to be a size that none of my three guys wear. Basically that means it’s yet another laundry mystery, along with “Where are half of our socks?” “Whose underwear are these?” and “Why do I have so much trouble remembering to move the clothing from the washer to the dryer before it ends up having to be run all over again?”
It’s a good thing I enjoy an awesome mystery. Something else I enjoy? All of us being at home on the same weekend.