I am old. Carbon dating shows I am almost a half century and only getting older as each day passes.
But at least one of the good side effects of getting old is the valuable wisdom and knowledge you build up over the years. For example, I learned these two undeniable truths of life:
1) turn that damn music down!
2) turn the damn thermostat up!
The second one is because old people are almost always cold. I deal with this so much that I bought a space heater for my bedroom, the office and the car. (Only one of those is not true.)
I regularly persuade Amy to let us move somewhere a little warmer (like Ecuador, which MEANS "equator", so you KNOW it's good) and she is slowly but surely not budging on it.
Her last compromise was that I move down south somewhere and scout things out and she will "...follow after shortly. Maybe. Not really."
Anyway, my latest struggle with aging ungracefully (the last was God transplanting a bunch of my hair from atop my head into my ears) is that I don't even get freezing cold all over my old body.
Now, just my hands and arms get cold and usually the right one. Which is why God invented Cardigans.
I told Amy I was going to get a cardigan or two for the first time and she actually had a very good suggestion when she pointed out, "NO". She finally relented and agreed I could get one, just as long as I, "...keep right on going to Ecuador".
So, it only made sense to enlist the help of my 19 year old to go clothes shopping. This is because at 19, children are exponentially cooler than their parents. (They don't begin to understand how cool their parents really are until they are 24 or 25.)
Shopping quickly became quite the adventure yesterday. Brittany is a lot like me in that we are both huge pains in the ass. We are also never, ever wrong. EVER.
Now, this clearly poses a unique conundrum or some other big word, in the cases where we are both 100% right about something, and yet somehow have different answers.
(Obviously, this only happens when SHE is wrong, but you can see the potential problems that this causes.)
So, we worked out a system where the two of us would grab some armfuls of clothes and meet back up at the dressing room, where she would grab my armful and toss it aside before making me try on her armful.
The end result is that what clothes we ended up buying were probably less dorky than I could have picked by myself.
Or, at least I think so. I will have to wait until she is 24 or 25 to know for sure.