As we know, Whit is deeply enamored of his exercise pants. Oh, my, is he hilarious. This afternoon I was in my office when Grace and Whit came storming upstairs. Grace was talking to me about her day when Whit came out of his room (wearing his very favorite shirt, from Gloria), a knot of blue knit fabric in his hand.
“Here, Gracie. These exercise pants are for you.” He said, proferring the item with the solemnity of someone offering the crown jewels.
“Whit, I don’t want your exercise pants.” Grace rolled her eyes at me.
“Grace, come on, he is being nice.” I broke in.
“But they won’t fit me!” She protested.
“You won’t know until you try,” I said, thinking of how every single pair of pants she has ever worn has slipped down her hips to reveal her butt crack. My daughter the plumber.
“They are really good for exercise!” Whit, always in sales mode, insisted.
“Grace, just try them on.” I urged her on.
So she did. And they did exercises, together, on the third floor landing.
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