“Everyone is buying new shirts for the play!” says my nothing-if-not-persistent daughter

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ou’d think it’s the key to a treasure chest, the way I hunt it down.

But, no, it’s just a white button-down shirt, girl’s size ten. For the fifth grade kibbud av v’eim play, apparently, a white shirt is required. But not just any white shirt. My daughter has her heart set on a Betty Z., with the pocket, which shouldn’t be too difficult to find, considering it’s officially a uniform shirt option, but then, so is a blue shirt, and that’s the one unofficially chosen by Every. Single. Girl.

When I purchased uniform shirts at the beginning of the school year, I was asked to buy — unequivocally, irrevocably, exclusively — blue.

Which is why it comes as a surprise when the school requests a white one for the play.

“Everyone is buying new shirts for the play!” says my nothing-if-not-persistent daughter.

“If I buy it now, would you wear it to school on other days? Would you ever wear it again?” I ask.

“No,” she replies.

Honesty. That’s good.