Aw, lawd.
Old fashioned meets no fashion in this tale out of Facebook. Before their family outing, Mr. Mackintosh’s daughter was wearing super slutty short shorts. When she didn’t obey mom’s directions to trade in her streetwalker hot pants for more modest duds, dad steps his own thread game up with some serious outside the box thinking. That, or he’d been living a lie behind a Catholic façade (or Mormon?) and awaiting the day he could cut his “cutting the lawn” jeans and fulfill a suppressed life-long MackInTushie alter-ego fantasy.
“In our family we have pretty definite modesty guidelines: No mid-drift or low-cut shirts, no short-shorts, short skirts and we even go as far as saying no sleeveless shirts unless playing sports or on the beach. Having raised four daughters and three sons, I’m a bit protective. Some may call me old fashion, but I call it ‘a dad who loves his daughters’ (and sons too). I know some of you may be rolling your eyes and that’s okay, my daughter does it all the time. I’m a firm believer that the way we dress sends messages about us, and it influences the way we and others act.”
No sleeves? What are we? Amish?
Still, I applaud creative thinking. Too many parents just go scary-teacher-from-Matilda on their offspring instead of even trying. Whether you hate her Taylor Swift phase or learn she’s sneaking to furry conventions on the weekends – all angry reactions come from the same place. Parents say “I just want you to be happy” – forgetting different folk (even those you’ve created) have different happiness barometers than yours.
And while dressing slutty as a kid isn’t the path to “finding true happiness”, it likely is a sign she’s lacking happiness. So, I’m not sure humiliating them in cutoffs is the answer alone. Why not ask her questions? Would it be so hard to learn what’s driving her to dress like she’s cocktailing Hooters tables?
Relate a little?
I know. It’s tough when you’re busy spawning twelve other kids. Plus it means admitting the rule based religion you’ve committed to doesn’t have every answer. But does it really take much more time or effort than playing Miley-sired-us?
His daughter tried to remain stoic all through dinner and a game of mini-golf, but finally broke when they made a stop for milkshakes, refusing to get out of the car with him.
Ah. She killed the running gag.
If it’d been me, I’d have been Instagramming our duo-selfie with the caption “#Bun-der-twins!”, seeing who could roll their shorts up even higher in the malt shop, and cupping his pecs while asking: “So, are you going to get these done too? Ya know? As part of the change?”
Really. Don’t they teach improv 101 in school? This way you win the deadpan battle and if any friends see you, they know you’re in on the joke.
…not the butt of it.
