YaYa is at the age where it’s no longer cool to have his mom showing up to his games wearing his jersey. At this age, it would only be cool if a pretty girl came to his game wearing it. Nonetheless, I am a proud mom — secretly wanting to at least have a photo of myself wearing his number.
So when I discovered that not only had he brought it home, but that he left it on the couch, I got a wild idea. I went upstairs, fired up my flat iron and straightened my hair. Then I set up my camera in my room and went down for the jersey. Meanwhile, YaYa was in his room working on his homework.
As soon as I picked it up, I was rethinking my intentions. This was not because I was feeling guilty; it was because I could already smell the stench of a long bus ride, plus a couple hours of heavy sweating, and rubbing up against other sweaty guys. EW!
Even that didn’t stop me completely.
I put it on and quickly sat for the photo. The lighting was off so I adjusted the settings and shot again.
And when it still didn’t look right — because I had an odd look on my face — I gave up. My idea is not so cool anymore. Now, it’s in the wash and I’m thinking I might need a shower.
