The darned boots were worn to school this morning…
I don’t want to discuss it; not now, but maybe later when I’m no longer irritated by this minor defeat.
I sort of expected it, but I was holding fast to the hope that the boots would stay home today. I should have known this was going to be the combination of steps we’d be dancing when J flatly refused to let me take his shorts and short-sleeve shirts out of storage.
To quote Scarlett O’Hara: after all, tomorrow is another day. The only reason I’m quoting a character I don’t like from a book/movie I don’t particularly like is that J’s reaction was all too Rhett Butler-ish: frankly, my dears, he didn’t give a damn about our Boot Agreement of last week.
Off I go to lick my wounds (not really…that sounds gross,) and take some chosen “cold-weather” items out of J’s closet. In the face of direct attacks, I go for surreptitious sabotage.
So sue me…I’m a mother, not a strategist.