It wasn’t even that hot of a day and the boys already wanted to go home after a 90 minute hike. They desperately needed air conditioning. They’re such dregs.
Exiting the High Line park into the Meat Packing District, I made the mistake of telling them we had about two avenue blocks before the nearest subway. They asked if we could “duck into someplace cool for the air conditioning.” Apparently, they’re snow cones.
God must’ve sympathized with my situation at hand and planted a Patagonia store right smack in our path.
“Let’s go in here.” I said “fake” cheerily.
“What kind of store is this?” They asked in unison, because all the sporting goods and camping gear is just so indiscernible.
That’s when he saw it – the ultimate sleeping bag.
Can all the Scouts say ooooh and aaaahhhh?
He immediately touched it – because that’s what boys do – see with their hands. He asked me if I’d buy it for him and I replied no fucking way. My instincts told me the price was somewhere along the lines of major home appliance or male-orphan-baby – they’re so hot right now!
Guess how much it is. The closest guess wins it as a giveaway!
Of course, I’m joking. I have nothing worth nearly as much, well, you can have our smelly cat, Oscar, and really – do whatever you want with him because he’s such a pussy or you can seriously, take a guess.
This picture is titled, “First Born Son or Sleeping Bag: Which costs more?”