“You’re not going to wear that are you?” she asked as she looked up from her purse.
“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Seriously? John, we’re going to a memorial, not a rock concert! You’re not really going to wear those ratty old jeans are you?”
“I’ve got a sport coat on!” John exclaimed. “And a tie. I thought it looked stylish.”
“Really.” Jane said, cocking an eyebrow. “I can see your knobby knees through them and you call that stylish?”
“Hey, people pay good money for ripped jeans these days!”
“Yes, but they don’t come complete with grass stains, do they? Seriously, John!”
“Well, I’m comfortable. And it’s not like Uncle Mortimer is going to care, is he?” John asked in exasperation.
Jane dropped her keys into her purse and put her hands on her hips. “Honestly, John, you can’t expect me to have to explain to the rest of the family why you’re dressed like a teenager just come in from the cornfield, can you? Please, just go back upstairs and put your dress slacks on so we can get going – we’re going to be late!”
“Un unh. I’m going like this or I’m not going at all,” John sulked.
Jane crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, really?” She stared at him, one pointed toe tapping on the linoleum. “You’d rather stay here with the kids while I drive all the way across town by myself, in the rain, to offer our condolences than just change your pants? Well, there are a lot of things I’d like not to do, too, John, but I do them, don’t I?” Jane raised her eyebrows and cocked her head, waiting for his answer.
“Well, I…I mean….I just…ah, shit!” John turned around and tromped back up the stairs, grumbling.
“The grey ones!” Jane hollered after him, smiling. “The blue will clash with your jacket! Okay, kids, your Dad and I are leaving now….”