One day recently, the kids and I went out to the beach in the early part of the afternoon, and the kids immediately ran out into the ocean. When they came in later, one at a time, I offered each of them a towel. All three promptly and soundly rejected my offer. You would have thought I had proposed rounds of extensive, unnecessary, experimental dental surgery the way they grimaced and backed away at even the suggestion of the towel.
You see, I had offered them the princess towel, a throwback from Baby-Girl’s preschool days.
But I guess when you’re a boy about to enter middle school or a boy just trying to see your way clear to the other side of middle school, you can’t drape your ocean-drenched self with a princess towel, even one turned inside out (my suggested accommodation), and even with no one you know other than blood-kin in sight.
Not gonna talk about it and not gonna happen.
And then there’s Baby-Girl, who came in last and who gave me the death look when I suggested it to her. I get the sense that a rising fourth grade girl almost can’t imagine a more embarrassing scenario than being seen with a princess towel, even if and especially if the towel is technically hers.
My, how things have changed.