Somehow, the topic of underpants came up at dinner the other night.
I have written in the past about how I feel, as Sophie’s mother, a responsibility to make sure she always looks her best. That means no overalls or sailor shirts, and I’m still debating the denim dress with star-shaped bandana-print appliques, silver studs and fringe that my mother presented last week.
The panty discussion was much more, well, I guess you could say much more literal. It involves a set of underwear I bought for Sophie as a potty training incentive. She loves Snow White, after hanging with her at Disneyland this year. Each pair of panties has a different dwarf, and its name (Happy, Doc, etc) in big letters across the rear.
There’s been natural attrition. Like her Bambi panties, which had to be sacrificed due to an unfortunate poop accident, one of Sophie’s dwarves, either Sleepy or Sneezy, I believe, wound up in the garbage.
That left only 5, because I’d already swiped — and hidden — Dopey. I couldn’t toss him in the trash, the panties were clean (brand-new, even), but I also couldn’t put them on Sophie. I mean, c’mon, could you?
“What if, god forbid, we get in a car accident?” I asked at dinner. “How would that look, that my kid with Down syndrome is wearing Dopey panties?”
(I admit I’m a little obsessed with the question of Dopey’s diagnosis. To me, it looks like he has DS. I need to Google that a bit. In any event, upon reflection, I’m not so sure it’s nice to put any kid in Dopey panties. Plus, this set has a design flaw: the picture’s on the butt, but Sophie wants it in the front, creating a thong-like situation. This morning the dwarf made it onto the back, but cockeyed.)
My joke fell a little flat. Ray’s only response: “Well, maybe you shouldn’t put her in Grumpy, either.”