Chonies, drawers, whatever. Go put them on.

I’ve told you that we’ve long had trouble with my boy not wearing underwear. I don’t know why this is such an issue. Wear underwear – don’t wear underwear, I don’t know why we care so much. Maybe it’s a control thing. Whatever. Little dude needs to wear underwear. When he’s better at remembering to wipe his butt, then he can decide whether he wants to wear underwear. Until then… Hanes are our friends.

This weekend, he and his father went out shopping while Sassy, her grandmother and I made 87,000 cookies. I have no idea what they did out there in the world. They refused to tell me. I hate this time of year because I hate secrets unless they’re my secrets.

After they’d done all the secret stuff, they stopped off to find some cool outfit for Christmas dinner.

My Honey insisted they try stuff on. Zeus bless him.

“I can do it myself,” the boy tried to tell his father.

“Yeah, no. Get in there.” My Honey shoved him into the dressing room and followed along behind.

“Turn around.”

“Just take off your pants.”

The Bandit pushed down his sweatpants to reveal shorts. Off with the shorts and he revealed pajama bottoms.

“Do you have underwear on under there?” My Honey asked with a shake of his head.

“Yeah,” he said with a grin.

We do not understand this child. He’s really weird. Some days we can’t let him out of the house because he’s underpants-less. Other days he has on nineteen layers.

Tonight at dinner he spilled his milk and sat on a chicken leg. No one knows if he had underwear on or not.