'Cause Who Really Reads English Anymore Anyway

The other week, I stopped off at one of the bigger hypermarches to pick up some new pjs for Mini-Husband. God forbid we had a fire in the house and he had to be rescued wearing the high waters he had been sporting for the last two years.

I've found it hard to keep him in the right sizes lately. Not only has he been growing like a weed, but he's in that weird boarder area where he's ok with jimmy-jams that have cartoon characters on them but he's becoming interested in the more "big boy" type of stuff.

My answer to this problem is to just buy by colour. Hence, when I ran into the store the other day and saw a long sleeved pair in red & black and a short sleeved pair in blue & brown in just the right size, I thought, "perfect."

It wasn't until Mini-Husband actually put on the short sleeves the other night that I realized what a blessing and a curse knowing English really is and that I should actually LOOK at the pyjamas before buying them.

Yes, my 7 year old is sporting a pair of size 10 year old pyjamas that are bascially advertising a hot night out at a jazz club. Girls included. I was hoping he wouldn't start down this path till he was at least 16. What's even funnier is that you can get these pjs starting in a 2 year size. Great! Why not pick up a matching pair for Bubba-Love!?!

Thank God, the kids really only get their English from us. Perhaps if Hubster and I just ignore the words written there, they'll fade away nicely in the washing machine.

Note to self: Please don't pack the blue & brown pyjamas next time we go to England. Grandma and Grand-dad already think I'm a wild American, I can only imagine what they'd have to say about this.