the difference between men and women (part 372)

It’s prom season.

You know that section of scripture where God says he knows every hair on our heads? It means God knows us, really knows us…better than we know ourselves, better than we ever hope to know. That’s because in His infinite wisdom He knows what we need…and has our backs, so to speak.

That’s why I am ever thankful that God gave us two beautiful daughters first, and then a son, for when I was older and tired, and just didn’t have the energy or inclination to deal with daughters.

I am talking about clothes, of course.

I’m not that kind of a chick to begin with — the one that likes to spends hours shopping at the mall. Although the stereotype of mother-daughter bonding usually entailed some crazy shopping expedition, the only thing I ever got out of shopping with the girls was long faces, tears, and ill-fitting clothes. And the bill.

I can tell you with a great deal of certainty that they are just as relieved by being grown and not having to deal with me as I am. Oh, and they pay their own bills.

I miss having them in my lap, taking naps in my bed, wiping ice cream off their faces and arms and legs (why does ice cream end up everywhere on little people?), and if I am being totally honest, I miss their dependence on me.

I do not, however, miss going shopping with them.

That’s the big difference between girls and boys. Shopping with or for my son is the easiest thing ever. It’s made somewhat easier by the fact that he would go naked and barefoot if left to himself. Well, maybe not naked, but he has stated time and again that a pair of cargo shorts and a couple of t-shirts is all he needs. (that, and maybe some Febreze).

Anyway, as I was saying, it’s prom season. He needs a tuxedo. Black. How tough is that? Not very. His father said he’d take care of it. Excellent, I said.

And then, they disappeared into the garage and emerged in a triumphant mood.

That’s when I got concerned.

They were holding the Pantone color swatches chart. My son’s sweet girlfriend sent him a picture of her dress via email, and they were holding the colors up to the laptop trying to get a match. If that isn’t a scene out of The Big Bang Theory I don’t know what.

Incapable of understanding the meaning of Celestial Burst or Cerulean Starburst , they wrote down the HEX numbers and think that’s going to make sense to the Tuxedo Guy. Then again, maybe they speak the same language.

Just in case, I volunteered to order the corsage.