Body Image

Today was no different than every other day as Davis became irate when something didn’t go his way. But today, it wasn’t the wrong episode of the Care Bears, or lack of straw in his milk. It wasn’t even the excess time we took to dole out his two (not three! not four!) wall-e vitamins.

Nope.

It was the fact that no one in the household could find his “fat shorts”. And he was insistent that he didn’t want to wear those khaki shorts. And not the plaid ones either. And of course not the athletic shorts!

He wanted his FAT SHORTS!

We looked in the dryer. We looked in his dresser. We looked in the pile of clothes on my bedroom floor yet to be folded. Me, unsure exactly what we were looking for…and him standing in my shadow, shaking his head no as I held up every last pair of size 4 shorts in the house.

I am still struggling to come up with where he could have heard the term “fat shorts.” It certainly wasn’t from me because I don’t even have fat shorts.

That’s a lie.

All of my shorts are fat shorts which is why I don’t differentiate and call them that.

But, in the end, the fat shorts had vanished and poor Davis was sent to school in his skinny shorts. Perhaps he should join me at Weight Watchers next week.