Yesterday when I came home from work, I found Bruiser dressed in a flowery tank top (size: XS), dating no doubt from the days when make-up artist daughter lived at home. After I had removed the offending garment and soothed Bruiser's wounded pride, running son and I engaged in the following text message exchange:
ME: Don't dress Bruiser in girls clothes ever again--it confuses his sexual identity.
RS: Sorry but he looked good in it
ME: Do you want him to grow up to be a drag queen? do you??
RS: if the bra fits . . .