“I can’t wear that shirt.”
It was a bright, very bright yellow shirt with black Greek letters on it from UCA, leftover from a Greek service organization (anyone who works with me will know what I’m talking about). I thought the Greek letters made it kind of cool in a frat-ish sort of way.
“Why? What’s wrong with it.”
“It’s too yellow. I’m just not in a yellowy mood today.”
Okay, then, strike bright yellow off the list. You just never know.
The nine year old has had a rough week. On Tuesday, all of his friends quit his detective club, en masse.
“Really,” I said as we walked to the car. “Did they want to start another club or something?”
“Yes,” he blurted through hot tears.
“What’s it’s name?”
“The Ex-Detectives club!!!”