I was bringing The Eldest Child to guitar lessons at nine this morning, but about half-an-hour before we left the house:
Eldest Child: I think it's time to leave, but you're not going that way, are you Dad?
Me: That way? What way?
Eldest Child: Change your clothes!
Me: Change what? What's wrong? What's wrong with my t-shirt and shorts?
Eldest Child (to The Wife): Mooommm! I can't make him change his clothes! Make him change his clothes!
Me: What?! What?! Barely two months after turning thirteen and you're already embarrassed to be seen with me?!
The Wife: Change your clothes.
Me: What?!?!?!?!
The Wife: Change your clothes.
Eldest Child: You look like you just rolled out of bed!
Me: It's the middle of summer! I want to wear this (and I pointed to my extra large t-shirt, loose shorts, and sandals).
The Wife: Your shorts and shirt look old already.
Me: They're comfortable! I don't have any newer pair of shorts! I don't want to wear slacks!
The Wife: Change your clothes.
Eldest Child: Yeah!
The Wife: Change your clothes.
Me: I don't want to! It's hot!
(Youngest Child walks in, rubbing eyes, freshly risen from bed)
Youngest Child: Where are you going, Dad?
Me: I'm bringing your sister to guitar lessons.
Youngest Child: You're not going out that way, are you?
Me: (sighs) All right! I give in! I'll wear slacks.
Eldest Child: Good. You should hide your hairy legs from the world, Dad.
Me: (gets fresh slacks and a collared shirt from the closet, grumbling and mumbling)
It has come to this.