The miniscule Mumbai winter is slap dash upon us and this in turn means that the early morning pre-crack of dawn autorickshaw ride to the pool is brain freeze levels of chill. Ergo, the other day, I lumbered myself onto a footstool, determinedly ignoring its creaks of violent protest and pulled down the winter wear from the suitcase where it all had been mothballed for posterity.
First out of their plastic Ziploc bags were the sweaters and cardigans, wool, wonderful hand knitted ones, which unfortunately had been shrunk whilst in storage by evil elves working in insidious ways. After trying around a couple, which resulted in a right rolling-on-the-floor tantrum, which is kind of unseemly given that he has outgrown both—the sweaters and the rolling on the floor tantrum stage, the zippered hoodies were removed from the mothballs and presented to him to try on and check if they were still wearable or needed to be given away.
Let me add a disclaimer here. Until last year, The Brat was an angel child, with no pretensions to brand awareness or loyalty, and happily pulled on whatever was first at hand in the mess that masquerades as his cupboard, or whatever was handed to him with zero fuss by the responsible adult in charge. This year, I realise, with a heart that has now sunk like the proverbial stone, right to the toes, things have changed a fair bit.
The next hour went in a loop of “I cannot wear this, it is too short/out of fashion/large/I don’t like the colour/I don’t like the design/I cannot wear this brand…” and more on those lines until I was ready to hand him a shawl and tell him to wrap himself up in it for his trip to the pool, and that it would keep him very warm indeed. And that I could hand him a monkey cap too while I was at it, and it would be ideal a look for his rather simian bearing at most times.
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