Not the movie, the real-life invasion that happened in my own home.
Someone took away my 15-year-old son who could always care less about what he wore, and swapped him for someone who actually matches every day, whose T-shirts don’t look like they are 20 years old and whose hand has not only touched the iron … but used it!
I knew I was being duped by the fifth day of school.
Where was my son? You know, the real guy that I’ve had to lecture (or felt like I had to) practically all of the previous school years about dressing for success and first appearances and all that?
What happened to the teenager that I swore I wouldn’t speak to if he saw me on the street when he was dressed in the wrinkled T-shirt and khaki shorts (and he has 20 pair of them, I swear) that became his standard uniform.
I’d looked in his closet and seen with my own eyes the many shirts, pants and shorts that we’d shopped for … looking just as nice and neat as they had when we bought them because he had never worn them.
So in comes this new, cool dude.
Trying, of course, to act casual about this latest transformation.
I haven’t let him know that I’m on to him. I like the changes to0 much to say anything positive about it (the kiss of death as many moms already know).
I probably would have said something about it had I thought for one minute that he was finally heeding my years-long litany of advice.
No, that’s not it at all.
This clothes encounter, this invasion, this transformation is all thanks to …