The Wee Man is unquestionably weird. I love that.
One of his little foibles is his strange affection for a Little Mermaid nightgown his sister outgrew years ago. He probably outgrew it last year. Despite its tears, immortal stains and Klingeresque flair, he loves the damn thing.
His daddy does not.
He doesn’t understand why a 4-year-old boy needs a nightgown. Clearly, this man was deprived his sister’s hand-me-downs as a child. That explains a lot.
So when the Wee Man requested his favorite drag outfit tonight, I realized I hadn’t seen the beloved nightie in quite some time.
“I don’t know where it is, honey. Ask Daddy.”
Daddy looked a bit uncomfortable.
“Daddy, did you do something to the nightgown?”
Daddy asked us to define “something.” I asked him to produce it from whatever hole he’d shoved it down. He sheepishly reached under a stack of books in his nightstand to retrieve the precious outfit.
The Wee Man was so happy, his daddy suffered only a mild rebuke. From him.
I was more upset. Dear John knows our boy loves the damn thing, nasty as it is. I’m always quick to redirect when either of the kids claims something is a “boy” toy/color or “girl” sport/look. I don’t want them limiting themselves based on any kind of pointless gender assignment some other jackass came up with for no good reason.
Real men wear pink, after all.
So the Wee Man is delighted with tonight’s outfit, even though there’s no Spider-Man influence to be found anywhere on Ariel’s tattered visage. I love that this kid knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to own it, no matter what.