"I'll just wear a robe."
"No you're not. We'll get a costume for you."
"I SAID I WAS GOING TO WEAR A ROBE."
"You are a Baron. You need to wear something regal."
"I'M GOING TO WEAR CLINT'S ROBE. IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT I WEAR. NO ONE CARES."
"YOU ARE A FRICKIN BARON, NOT A SHEPHERD IN A FIELD WATCHING SOME DUMB FLOCKS BY NIGHT. THIS IS NOT THE NATIVITY STORY. THIS IS A MEDEIVAL FAIR AND YOU ARE A LAND OWNER WHO IS A PERSON OF SOME NOBILITY AND YOU WILL WEAR A BARON'S OUTFIT BECAUSE PEOPLE ARE WATCHING US AND I NEED FOR YOU TO JUST NOT ARGUE AND SAY 'OK MOM' ALRIGHT?"
"You can rent something for me, but I'm not wearing it."
......
"Hi, we're here to see about a baron's costume for a medeival fair he's in tomorrow... do you have anything that would work?"
She looks him over, walks over to an overstuffed area of her overstuffed store and pulls out a purple velvet and silver lame tunic with black tights.
"Here you are. Perfect."
She insists he try them on.
He is shooting lazer beams at me with his eyes.
He exits the fitting room looking like the grape on the Fruit of the Loom underwear ads.
"Here!" she says, and plops a purple velvet and silver lame braided hat on his head, adjusts a leather belt around his waist and puts a sword in his hand.
"Do you have black knee socks at home?" she asks. "How about black shoes?"
I am SO relieved.
My child has a costume. He looks like a Baron Von Oh-My-What-Luck. As per usual, this has been left til the last minute, but it is entirely perfect. More perfect than if I went to Value Village and tried to glue and staple some fabric together.
Naturally there was that dicey bit about needing a Visa (which was at home) (so I drove like a stupid woman to get there and back before 4 pm) (only to discover that it was demagnetized) (and she didnt know how to manually enter it) (so I had to go to a bank machine to get cash) (and she didn't have any change so it had to be THE EXACT AMOUNT) (and this was on Monday and it was raining and Drew needed to be at home because he was getting picked up to go snowboarding and I just wanted to be home because I had friends coming over and why don't I have a perscription for Valium?) but other than that, it was a seamless transaction with a 70 year old store owner who wrote everything out in slow, cursive script, taking about 15 minutes of my precious, valuable time.
He only wore the bare minimum - the top. No tights tucked into black socks inside black shoes. (White sport socks and skater runners). No hat, no belt, no sword.
Just a 13 year old with the attitude of a 73 year old cranky landowner.
Can you sense his displeasure in my presence at this event? His disdain for my camera?
There were REAL medeival re-enactment guys there, doing medieval things.
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