“Okay,” said Bean.
“I laid your clothes out for you on your table.”
“Oh, I don’t need those,” said Bean.
“Uh huh…” I said, too distracted as I tried to wipe mascara off my eyelid to pay attention to what he’d said.
So, Bean disappears down the hall, returning about 15 minutes later. Wearing this:
“Whoa, Bean Man,” I said, grabbing his arm as he casually strolled by me. “Whatcha wearing, Buddy?”
“I picked it out myself!”
“You did? Uh… Well… that shirt doesn’t really match those shorts, big guy.”
“Yes, it does!” Chris called from across the room. “I think it looks great!”
“Yeah!” said Bean.
“Well… um…. It doesn’t really… go together…” I stammered, not wanting to crush little Bean’s spirit, but also keenly aware that I was about to go out in public with him.
“Yeah, it does!” Chris insisted, ignoring my silent pleas with bug eyes for him to stop encouraging this. “There’s blue in the shorts and blue in the shirt!”
“And there’s white in the shorts and white in the shirt, too!” said Bean.
I checked my watch. 7:05am. Too early for any kind of argument. Especially insignificant ones.
“You’re right!” I said. “You look great! I’m so proud of you, Bean Bean! Way to go, man!”
(high fives all around)
Bean left the room, and Chris whispered to me, “You know, there should be a button or something you can put on your kid that says, ‘I dressed myself’ so that we don’t have to walk next to him in shame.”