An Intervention

My husband, sister, and brother-in-law have decided that it is time to have an intervention on Mack.  Things have gotten pretty serious, and it’s time to have a big sit down talk with her.

You see, at first we thought it was just a phase.  Thought she would grow out of it.  I thought maybe it had to do with her artyness, and her art friends.  She was expressing herself. 

The time has come.

It has gotten to the point of ridiculousness.

My daughter needs to start wearing pants.

She doesn’t wear skirts. 

She never wears dresses.

I can count the amount of times that I have seen her wearing pants in the last year on one hand.

She must have a million pairs of different tights in various stages of ripped and/or torn.  Every single color you could ever think of.  Always paired with a ratty pair of cut off jeans, and either her Doc Martens or other boots.  The “shorts” are getting to the point where they are crawling up her lady business and she needs to pull them out and down each time she stands up.

I thought it was just my husband and I who had noticed, but my sister and BIL both had.

The girl needs some pants.

This intervention may cost me money, but I am going to take her somewhere to buy her some pants.

I don’t think I can bear to see those tights and shorts ever again.

Maybe we can burn them in the backyard after our shopping trip.