"This is a dress," Jacob objected, looking down at the 'practice jersey' his dad had tossed into his arms before hustling him off to a changing room. To emphasize his point, he plucked at the hems - which were halfway to his knees! - and dipped into a curtsey.
"It's a jersey," his dad argued back. "They're fine to be a bit long, and we're going to buy clothes that will at least last until Christmas."
"This..." Jacob sputtered. "No! Just no. This thing is too long for YOU, dad. Look!"
Jacob tugged at a sleeve and glared as he felt his shoulder pop through the neck hole.
"I can almost pull myself through the top of this. Can we PLEASE buy something with two or three less 'x's in the size? At least something I can walk around in without it tripping me or falling off!"
The practice shorts his dad had tossed him would NOT stay up. The belt he was given after he complained about THAT barely stayed on when he used the tightest hole. He hadn't even bothered arguing about the extra-large socks. Really, he was starting to feel like a toddler playing dress-up, and there was no WAY he was wearing clothes like this to school.
Jacob felt his scowl falter as he took in that strange, vacant gaze on his dad's face. The same look his mom had yesterday when he asked about his shoes. It was like nobody he asked was able to see what was really going on, and if he pushed it they just sort of... stood there, not responding. It was super creepy, and scary, and Jacob decided to not fight too much if only to get his dad back to normal.
The cashier wished his dad and 'the tall young man' well (Jacob was MAYBE up to the cashier's nose). Bags full of circus tents, Jacob staggered after his dad back toward the car.
"Ouch!" Jacob yelped, wincing a bit as his hand cramped up. His shopping bags dropped to the ground.
"Jake?" His dad asked, rushing over and prodding at his palm and wrist. "You alright, kiddo?"
"Yeah..." Jacob shook his hand out. "Yeah. I'm okay. That was weird. Sorry, dad."
"They're your clothes." His dad shrugged. "I'm sure the drop didn't hurt 'em anyway. I think I've got a hot pad left in the car from last winter, if you think it'll help with your hand."
"Nah, I'm" Jacob hissed as his other hand twinged. "Yeah, okay. Thanks."
By the time they got back to the car, Jacob's hands and feet were killing him enough that he didn't put up a fight when his dad started massaging his hands and fussing over him. Eventually his dad gave an amused snort and tossed him the hot pad.
"You know Jake, for all the fuss you made in there, you should really learn to trust your old man. I know those jerseys would be long on me, but they're not FOR me."
Jacob wasn't really sure where that was going until his dad calmly pressed their palms together. He could only blink, surprised, when he saw that his hand completely covered his dads, with his dad's fingertips hitting at his third knuckles.
Jacob's dad put the car into drive and let him sit quietly with the hot pad on his aching finger bones.
"You'll grow into them."