So I'm sitting in my bed one night. Jackson comes in and starts chatting with me.
As we are chatting ... I look down. His pants are at his ankles.
Hold up son. Stop talking. Why are your pants ... like ... down there??
"mom ... it's late ... and there's only so long I can tolerate pants...and I'm feelin a little lazy .. it's too much work to get them off"
Okay then.
I get it.
I hate pants.
But I don't think I've ever been stuck in that type of laziness.
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