Sooooo... what happened? Morphsuit update

Sam, Angus, Dandelion: A study in the absurd.

The day Sam wore his morphsuit to school, I worried.

And worried.

At 4 o'clock his bus rumbled to a stop and my son stepped off. He was still wearing his red morphsuit so I couldn't see the expression on his face, but at least he still had it on. I had fully expected he would change into regular clothes the minute kids started picking on him.

He looked both ways then hop-skipped across the highway, knapsack swinging carelessly from one red hand, sneakers almost dancing up the driveway.

I didn't even get the chance to ask what happened. He stopped mid-driveway and threw his arm up in the air, hand poised for a long-distance high-five. 

"I got R-E-S-P-E-C-T," he said with 12-year-old swagger. Then he swivelled his red hips in some kind of weird victory twist and bounced up onto the deck where I sat waiting for him.

"I gather your day went well?" I asked. "Nobody teased you? The teacher didn't make you take it off?"

Sam admitted he was told to take the hood off during class and when he was walking down the halls, but other than that he had it on all day. Apparently he was the coolest kid in school. Absolutely everybody wanted to know where they could buy morphsuits. 

Little kids chased him around at recess, asking who he was. He chased them back, staggering around the schoolyard like a big red zombie. "Who did you say you were?" I asked.

"Jesus," he said. 

When I stop laughing, me and Sam are going to have to have a talk.