Monday, July 19, 2010

Watch in amazement as I ruin my child's life without even trying...

So The Kid spent the weekend in Vegas attending some of the NBA Summer League* games. After the games, in addition signing autographs, many of the players give out their jerseys, warm-up shirts and shoes to fans.

The Kid pushed and battled his way through the crowd and came away with one size 15 shoe and one wet-with-sweat warm-up t-shirt from some players on the Sacramento Kings.

He came home and unloaded his backpack in the living room, then headed off to basketball practice.

A nasty habit I acquired during my roller derby days (and my time living in a house with a smelly pre-teen boy) is to throw dirty clothes into the washer as quickly as possible.

You see where this is going, right?

The Kid comes home from practice and proceeds to freak the fuck out over the fact that I've laundered the formerly-sweaty shirt. Tantrums, sulking, heavy sighing, glares from across the room.

And here I thought I would escape the attack of the hormone histrionics by having a son instead of a daughter.


*basically, it's a chance for the newly drafted players to showcase their mad ballin' skillz in a semi-casual environment


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