I get this text to wake me up: “Dad, I’m almost out of clothes.”
Well, no kidding. It’s Wednesday. He’s worn two and a half days worth of clothes so far. Roon has a tendency to wear undershirts. But he uses his other shirts as his undershirts so it looks like he’s wearing two t-shirts. Well, he IS wearing two t-shirts. But I only packed on t-shirt per day so perhaps he’s run through his stupid rock-n-roll t-shirt batch.
I’ve already been out there once to sneak him his laptop and enough snacks to last him a week which adds up to a metric ton of beef jerky and chips. However, I’m the world’s worst dad and the power chord that was WRAPPED AROUND HIS LAPTOP in his room was NOT HIS POWER CHORD. Hommes was, shall we say, non-plussed.
I expected to be upbraided for my slackard ways. But instead his morning text emergency is that he might be running out of clothes.
I’m raising a fashion maven.