Last
night was an exciting one in our house. Robby's cotillion season (yes,
apparently the course is referred to as a season) came to a close with
the much anticipated Black and White Ball. He was excited and nervous
all day, scared that the girls would say no when he asked them to dance
and fearing that he would spill water on his rented tux. I reminded
Robby that he was obliged to ask and that the young ladies were probably
obliged to accept. Knowing that they would be forced to dance with him
somehow eased his worried mind.
I thought it was adorable that he was so worried about dancing with a girl. Meanwhile I was worried about him breaking into fits of giggles when they formally welcomed him to "The Ball." Up until last night, he couldn't hear the term without turning red faced and breaking into peals of laughter. We actually practiced hearing "The Ball" without reacting so that he would be prepared.
Dressing him in his tuxedo was a feat worthy of a comedy routine. Neither Scott nor I have experience with tuxedos, and trying to wrangle one onto a squirming 10 year old was difficult at best. I took the back and Scott took the front, but it still took us nearly 20 minutes to dress him. Frustrated and worried about time, we told Robby to put the silver cuff links in his pocket to worry about later. His jacket extended over his sleeves, so we figured he would be okay.
Still, despite our best efforts Robby still looked awkward in his tuxedo. The vest fell too high on his waist, exposing the bleached white shirt underneath. Not knowing what to do, we advised him to suck in his gut and to deal with it. I explained that obviously they measured him wrong and provided the wrong sizes but that we had no choice but to make it work.
Scott and Robby headed to the Ball while I stayed home to take care of Timmy. About 30 minutes after they left I received a text photo from Scott with the explanation that the photographer fixed his tuxedo. It wasn't the wrong size; it turns out that his parents are just idiots who couldn't figure out a tuxedo.
Robby quickly threw us under the bus as they fixed his attire, explaining that his parents "had a hard time figuring out this cockamamie costume. For $100 it should have come with instructions or something. I mean really, that's a lot for one night." Lovely. Thanks, Robby the Parrot. And any hopes of maintaining family dignity evaporated when he pulled the cuff links from his pockets and asked what he was supposed to do with these "useless button thing-a-ma-bobs."
Despite the dressing fiasco, Robby had a great time. I'm not sure we are meant to be a Cotillion family, but these lessons were good for him. At least he now knows how to put on a tuxedo which is a skill his parents lack.
I thought it was adorable that he was so worried about dancing with a girl. Meanwhile I was worried about him breaking into fits of giggles when they formally welcomed him to "The Ball." Up until last night, he couldn't hear the term without turning red faced and breaking into peals of laughter. We actually practiced hearing "The Ball" without reacting so that he would be prepared.
Dressing him in his tuxedo was a feat worthy of a comedy routine. Neither Scott nor I have experience with tuxedos, and trying to wrangle one onto a squirming 10 year old was difficult at best. I took the back and Scott took the front, but it still took us nearly 20 minutes to dress him. Frustrated and worried about time, we told Robby to put the silver cuff links in his pocket to worry about later. His jacket extended over his sleeves, so we figured he would be okay.
Still, despite our best efforts Robby still looked awkward in his tuxedo. The vest fell too high on his waist, exposing the bleached white shirt underneath. Not knowing what to do, we advised him to suck in his gut and to deal with it. I explained that obviously they measured him wrong and provided the wrong sizes but that we had no choice but to make it work.
Scott and Robby headed to the Ball while I stayed home to take care of Timmy. About 30 minutes after they left I received a text photo from Scott with the explanation that the photographer fixed his tuxedo. It wasn't the wrong size; it turns out that his parents are just idiots who couldn't figure out a tuxedo.
Robby quickly threw us under the bus as they fixed his attire, explaining that his parents "had a hard time figuring out this cockamamie costume. For $100 it should have come with instructions or something. I mean really, that's a lot for one night." Lovely. Thanks, Robby the Parrot. And any hopes of maintaining family dignity evaporated when he pulled the cuff links from his pockets and asked what he was supposed to do with these "useless button thing-a-ma-bobs."
Despite the dressing fiasco, Robby had a great time. I'm not sure we are meant to be a Cotillion family, but these lessons were good for him. At least he now knows how to put on a tuxedo which is a skill his parents lack.
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