Cowboy in the house

Twin B, formerly known as The M****c, announced the other day he was desperate for a cowboy belt. And boots. And hat. The hat was pushing it, I thought. I bought a cowboy hat once, in Aspen. As case of 'when in Rome...' I also bought lots of general Western fantastic cowboy-style stuff. (This, by the way, was post-Brokeback-gay-cowboy-phase). I strode round Aspen looking more Aspen than the natives and feeling fabulous. Then we flew back to La Guardia, and striding through the airport, I realised I looked like a total arse.

The hat is stored on the top shelf of the closet, and has not been worn since.

So I didn't buy Twin B the hat, but I did order him jeans, a belt, and boots. They arrived yesterday, and he jumped up and down with excitement, then gathered everything in his arms and ran upstairs to try them on, together with a seriously cool jacket I picked up in the Ralph Lauren online sale (highly recommend it: www.polo.com), that isn't officially cowboy, but has that whole RalphLaurendoeswildwest vibe thing going on.

Five minutes later, he reappeared, and if it is possible for a five-year-old to swagger, he was swaggering.

'Hey,' he said cooly, from the kitchen doorway, in his best John Wayne pose, even though he has no idea who John Wayne is.

And I swear this is what he said next.

'Sup?

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