The Day My Nephew Fired Me as His Fashion Consultant Sunday has its… — Pages Of My Diary — TG.ME

The Day My Nephew Fired Me as His Fashion Consultant Sunday has its own rules in our house. And one of them, apparently, is that 4 p.m. is shower time. So, with the heavy heart of a man leaving behind his weekend laziness, I was about to take a shower when I saw Ivan and Ira playing. I walked over, looked at Ivan, and thought, Why not? Let’s make this interesting. I picked up my classic grey shirt and asked him, “Ivan, try this.” He took one step backwards. “No, Mama.” I took one step forward. “Come on, just try it.” He looked at the shirt. Then he looked at me. Then, with the confidence of a two year old fashion critic who has somehow already written for Vogue, he said “Cheeee.” Excuse me? CHEEEE? This is not a shirt. This is a classic grey shirt. A timeless piece. A garment that has survived my entire wardrobe. And a 2.9 year old just rejected it like I had brought him a potato sack. That was it. The battle had begun. I ran towards him. He ran towards Nani. “NO MAMA! NO! NO!” He grabbed Nani like she was his lawyer and I was the police. Normally, these twins share everything with me... food, toys, little pieces of whatever they are eating. They love me, and I love these two tiny criminals more than I can explain. But today? Today there were fashion boundaries. So I changed my strategy. I went into the room, picked up Ivan’s shirt and announced, “Fine. If you won’t wear mine, I’ll wear yours.” Suddenly, the boy found his courage. “Mama! No! Bhai shirt!” And yes, he calls himself Bhai... because apparently being Ira’s brother is a full time designation. So now it was Bhai versus Mama. He chased me around the room, shouting, “Bhai shirt! Give! Give!” Meanwhile, Nani was watching the entire situation unfold and finally said, “Don’t make him cry. Give him his shirt back.” So I surrendered. Not because I had lost. Because apparently Nani is the Supreme Court of this household. But I wasn't done. I went back into the room and picked up Ira’s skirt. Ira saw me. She was completely chill. No reaction. No protest. Nothing. But Ivan? The fashion police were back on duty. “Give! skirt!” I looked at him innocently. “Is this yours?” He immediately said, “No. Ira’s.” I paused. Ira’s? So let me understand this. This child shares his food with me. He shares his toys with me. He shares almost everything with me. But when it comes to clothes, suddenly he understands private property, ownership and intellectual boundaries. Apparently, the family has produced a fashion designer. My classic grey shirt got a “cheeee,” my fashion career was over, and Ivan went back to playing like he hadn’t just destroyed a man’s confidence. Apparently, I’m allowed to share his snacks and toys. But not his wardrobe. Fair enough. Even Bhai has boundaries...