measuring alexander

I am allowed one free custom shirt from J. Hilburn, so I decide that my son will be the lucky recipient.

There is one small catch.  The order must be placed by tomorrow.  And, my son is not here for me to measure him.

A few days ago I call Alexander and tell him I want to give him a custom shirt.  I explain that he’ll need a tape measure, a friend to measure him, and that we can do it on Skype so I can direct the effort.  “And then after,” I say, we can pick out the fabric and design elements together.  “Sounds great,” he responds.

I actually look forward to this.  I envision spending a fun half hour with my son, laughing together as his friend measures him, and then talking about how he’d like the shirt to fit and look.

As it turns out, the fitting/selection process is nothing like I imagine it.

A few hours before our scheduled meeting last night, Alexander tells me he is not doing this on Skype. 

Next, he wants to know how long it will take.  He asks with an impatience that suggests if it’s more than five minutes, he’s not interested.

Then, he tells me, “I’ll measure myself.  I’m not asking any of my roommates to measure me.”

It takes a lot of convincing to get across the point that he cannot measure himself.

In advance of our call, I email Alexander a short video that shows exactly how to measure the neck, chest, hips, sleeves, and wrist.  I tell him that he can watch the video as we go, each segment is under a minute.  Then he can do the measurement. 

“Okay. Okay, “ he says irritably. “I’ll watch the video then email you the measurements.”  “You can’t do that,” I insist.  “Why not?  It’ll be much faster.”  “Yeah, and wrong. There are things I need to explain,” I say.  “You cannot do this without my guidance.”  He tries to argue and I get angry.  Finally, with great reluctance, he agrees.

This is already agonizing and we haven’t even started.

We begin with the neck.  The measurement doesn’t sound right.  He is almost the size of a guy I just measured who is 50 pounds heavier and shorter.

The shoulders are measured at a width reflective of a small girl.  I ask him to do it again.  He doesn’t want to.  I insist.  He does.  And his measurements are now almost two inches more than they just were.

As for the hips, “I will measure those myself.  I AM NOT GOING TO ASK JADEN TO MEASURE MY HIPS!”

Alexander’s chest is measured three times, and each time the measurement is different.

I am not at all confident that the final measurements for my son are even close to resembling those of a slim, 5’10”, 172-pound male.  I picture a shirt arriving with sleeves ending just below his elbow, and hanging to about an inch below his waist, with a neck big enough for a 250-pound man.

But at least we are done.

I ask Alexander to go online and together we can pick the fabric and design elements.  This should be the fun part.  But by now, my son has totally lost interest and patience.  “You pick it out.  I trust your judgment,” he tells me. 

I have a better idea. 

This morning I call J. Hilburn and ask if they can extend the deadline for getting a free shirt until Thanksgiving.  Fortunately, they agree.