And In This Corner....

The other night, just as I a had put the youngest Weasels to bed and started contemplating settling in myself, the phone rings. It's Mr. Weasel. He's on his way home with Eldest, who after completing her track meet wants to go swimsuit shopping. He asks that I put on shoes and grab Middle Weasel and he will pick us up in 3 minutes time.

I can't tell you the thoughts that went through my head. Really. I can't tell you. They were swirling violently in a funnel cloud of dread and anger and fatigue.

I have been strategically avoiding this shopping trip over the past month or so. I know that no good will come of it. I know that it will only cause anger and tears. I know they may wind up coming from me. Going shopping for any form of attire for a teen and a tween is an exercise in patience. Going swimsuit shopping with them is sheer torture. There will be no agreement. There will be no middle ground or compromise options. There will only be that throbbing vein in your temple and arguing.

In order to help fortify my position of what is appropriate for my daughters to wear at the pool, Mr. Weasel came along to share in the joy. He has never in 15 years of parenthood been a part of this yearly ritual. It has always been my job. However, the older the girls get, the more interest he has vested in it.

So we head out and hit the swimsuit departments, in girls and juniors. Both of these lovely daughters have had there hearts set on little 2 piece numbers. This is where the pain begins, for most of those are a bit too revealing. Yet, they each try a few on. I insisted that they must model each suit that they try on for Mr. Weasel. This way I can stand back and be a spectator to the knock down drag out that is about to ensue.

Yeah, I set the Mr. up. He did not realize how big the blast would be from the landmine he just stepped on. I had taken cover, and not even yelled 'fire in the hole'. Eldest came out of the dressing room, wearing what we had hoped would a medium coverage bikini. It wasn't. She loved it because she looked like she could pose for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition. Mr. Weasel, on the other hand started to feel chest pain that shot down his left arm. Ding, Ding, Round 1! I wanted to have Middle Weasel model her choices around the dressing room holding the sign that marks the round #.

Round 2, Mr. Weasel heads back toward the racks and makes a few choices for Eldest to try on. I believe he headed for the Seniors department. He came back with a few tents that would alleviate any need for sun screen. Eldest was not amused.

Meanwhile, after having her first 3 options vetoed, I take Middle Weasel back to the girls department for some alternate selections. Mostly I did this to get further away from the ground zero dressing room. While there, I quickly make a few selections for her to try next and pick up 2 sure winners for the younger girls at home.

Eldest and Mr. W are in the middle of round 4 when we return. It was now getting reminiscent of Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa's first meeting in the ring. I had to step in and call the fight. There was anger, frustration and tears. Mostly the Mr.'s. We made our purchases for Middle Weasel and the younger Weasels and gave up for the evening.

All in all, we accomplished 75% of what we had set out to do. Mr. W managed to not need medical intervention, and had a brand new experience in fatherhood. Middle Weasel wound up pleased with her new suit. Eldest lived to fight another day and I enjoyed having had a ring side seat. Next time I'm bringing popcorn.

Happy Fatherhood Friday.