… or as I like to call it, “Smoop Gets Sexy!”
The birds and the bees we’re discussed pretty early in our house. And by discussed, I mean I had a book about it. I can’t tell you how many times I read that book. My obsession with baby-making started early.
When I was 12, I got my period (sorry, fellas). It was the summer between seventh and eighth grade and I was convinced I was never going to get it, because all my friends had theirs, and mine was nowhere to be found. Why was it taking so long?! What’s wrong with me?! I insisted that she explain to me how it works, over and over again. She drew me a diagram of a uterus and ovaries on a note pad — and let me tell you, looking back, that sucker was pretty accurate. Also looking back, I was an idiot.
Anyway — then, one day, it was just there.
So, I called my mom at work to tell her. I remember I was standing in our dining room, because the phone was in the kitchen, and back in the day, they were still tethered to the wall. I took most of my calls pacing around the dining room table, or on the landing of the stairs.
“I think I got my period.”
“I don’t think so.”
“No, really, I think I did.”
“Well what does it look like?”
“Well, I’ll have to look at it when I get home.”
(I like that her initial reaction was that I was wrong. That there must be some other explanation for whatever was in my underwear…)
So, after work, she confirmed my suspicions.
And then it was time for The Talk. Which, for most people is probably pretty awkward for all parties involved. In my house, it was one sentence.
“Well, you can have babies now — so don’t get pregnant!”
Direct. Concise. Effective.
I have been forbidden to tell this story. So, instead, I’ll show you this picture from the photobooth we had at our wedding.
The Birds and The Bees and Robert Pattinson
A few weeks ago I went with my mom, my aunt and my cousin to see Water for Elephants, which — in case you were wondering — was good, but not as good as the book. When we were leaving, my mom and I were walking to the car.
“That’s that Vampire Boy, right?”
“What’s that all about, anyway?”
So, for the next ten minutes, I give her a cliff’s Notes version of the Twilight Saga. I wrapped it up with:
“Basically though, it’s really just a thinly veiled metaphor for graduating from High School, and uh…”
“Well, yes, but no. What’s that word? Where you don’t do things?”
“Hmmm… It’s uh… Shit, what is it called?!”
“Oh, ha. Right. Abstinence.”
“I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t know that word.”
She knows me so well.