Attire

Jake returns from his Jr. High's "Hello Dolly" dress rehearsal still wearing his suspenders, purple dress shirt and matching bow tie, and his rented cap. I smirk at the 15 year old and bask in his unusual attire with pleasure. Jake never cared about fashion. Or any type of clothing, really. My mother could hand him a dress, maybe even my great-grandmother's gingham that crossed the plains, and he would put on the heirloom without any reaction, only pausing because he couldn't tie it in the back. Jake really does look ridiculous in his 19th century ensemble, yet he sits on the sofa and begins watching the ball game on t.v.oblivious to the humor all spectators find in him. Mom in a panic proclaims that the poster board he absolutely needed for school tomorrow still hadn't been purchased and if he wouldn't mind going to the store with her? Jake gives a sure, you bet, to Mom. As Mom scavenges the house for her purse, shoes, and cell phone, Jake saunters over to the heaping pile of shoes in the corner of the room. He tugs at a shoelace at the bottom of the stack, and watches as the tower of shoes crumble to the ground, just as his pair of basketball shoes narrowly escape the avalanche of footwear. He begins to put on his high-tops, as Mom tilts her head to the right and gives his outfit a quick up and down inspection. Mom says "Uhh, Jake?" to which Jake quickly runs to the shoes and puts them in a more manageable pile. Mom sighs. Jake runs to the car, with his untucked purple shirt trailing behind him.