I did some long overdue cleaning on Saturday, and uncovered a t-shirt from my childhood, a red one, with the words “Frankly Scallop, I don’t give a clam.”
It was in good condition, so I gave it to my oldest.
He laughed and put it on, and I forgot all about it.
That night, however, my wife spent forever tucking the boys into bed. Usually, the last bit of the bedtime routine is about three minutes. This time it was more like half an hour, per child.
She came out smiling, but as soon as she saw me, she levelled an accusing finger. “You owe me big time.”
“That shirt! Each of them asked what it meant. I had to explain who Scarlet was, which meant explaining Gone With The Wind, and then I had to explain damn, and what it meant, and that they weren’t allowed to say it…” She plopped onto the couch. “I’m exhausted.”
“Frankly Scarlet,” I started with a smile.
“Don’t,” she interrupted. “Don’t even say it.”
Heh, heh, heh. If it wasn’t my favorite shirt before, it certainly is now.