My Son Hasn’t Worn Pants In Three Years

I can’t remember the last time my son wore pants. Any kind of pants. He won’t do jeans. Doesn’t do sweats. Skips pajama pants.

I remember a time when he did — before he made choices about clothes. But that was years ago. It was so long ago, he and his sister thought they were at an actual basketball game at Target.

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Courtside.

But, he hasn’t worn pants at all since 2016 or something like that. I’m serious. I have a picture of it and stumbled upon it the other day. And we’ve been to cold places since then. With snow. He just hates to admit he’s cold. It’s like a thing.

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The last known evidence of pant-wearing.

He’s strictly a shorts and knee high socks kind of guy. It’s like his uniform. And it’s apparently working for him.

Because a set of blonde twins want to marry him. Yeah, he’s 10 and he’s achieved a peak male fantasy. He’s basically living the dream.

How many guys want to get through life by permanently avoiding pants and getting competing love notes from a couple of younger blondes? Like every single guy, right?

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Earlier days, when he was training for his no-pants life.

These girls drew him pictures. Of people on mountain tops. And they stand by after practice and literally bat their eyes like they’re cartoon characters. It’s super cute.

It’s also a far cry from the little thing Lulu brought home from her crush. This thing. An elephant that poops. And then, um, un-poops.

I’m not sure what any of this means, except to be happy that this undying crush from these girls isn’t going to his curl-covered head.

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Contemplating never wearing pants ever again.