Every day, Eason puts his shirt on backwards.
Every day, I say "Eason, your shirt is on backwards."
Every day, he says, 'No it isn't,' with a mischievous grin on his face.
Every day, he then looks down and pulls out the neck, spying the tag.
Every day, I say, "Please turn it around."
And about 60% of the time, he does it.
I'm beginning to consider hushing.
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