Mommy is Dating

Two years ago, my older son (7 at the time) was rummaging around in my drawers trying to find a pair of socks. Now, I admit, this clearly was not one of my more insightful moments, and while it may have created a “teachable moment,” I’m quite sure I didn’t use it that way.

Older son pulls out BOB – you know, battery-operated boyfriend, which in this case is a Rabbit. Not the kind with which you pull corks from a bottleneck, though there’s an interesting metaphor there, perhaps. No, the “money” vibrator. The one that leaves no stone unturned, so to speak. The kind you look at and practically wet yourself.

So, older son says, “Mom! What’s this?”

I am beyond mortified. WTH was I thinking keeping BOB in my sock drawer?! Holy F***, how do I get myself, not to mention my son who will surely be damaged beyond repair, out of this one? “Mom?”

“Oh. Well. Um.” Stalling. “It’s a massager.”

True, in many respects. I’ve had some great massages, but I don’t usually scream “Oh, God!” during the traditional kind.

“Cool, Mom. Can I give you a massage?” Do you know how many ways that question is WRONG? Here’s a sweet kid asking his stressed-out mother if he can give her a massage, which generally speaking would be more than welcomed. EXCEPT HE’S OFFERING TO DO IT WITH A VIBRATOR!!! Hot pink, no less. I’m envisioning years of therapy, unless this is quickly nipped in the bud.

“That’d be great, Sweets. That’s really thoughtful of you. Except the batteries are dead.”

“Oh. Well can’t we get new ones when we go to the store this afternoon?”

“Well, um, we could,” I say, “except they quit making those kinds of batteries.”

Disappointment shadows his face while I wonder, “Can he really not see that this thing looks like a life-sized penis, albeit hot pink and with extra ‘appendages’?” Of course, this is the same kid who argued with me for 40 minutes about whether or not his father had a vagina. Son’s reasoning: Hairy = vagina. Not hairy = penis. That really did make sense at the time, since he knew both he and his brother had penises neither of which was not hairy.

All that leads me to believe that I’ve learned two lessons here. First, a Brazilian is out of the question. Waxing the hoo-ha will really confuse the poor kid. And second, once your son’s feet are as big or bigger than yours, i.e. he wears your socks, it’s time to move BOB. Hopefully he doesn’t have cross-dressing inclinations and will stay out of your lingerie drawer.