"Mommy?" she said timidly. "I saw that picture of the lady."
"Oh?" I said, continuing with some mundane task. "What picture?"
"That one with the lady." She gestured vaguely to her chest. "When she was doing this." She put one hand behind her head in a pin-up girl-ish pose.
"A lady? She was standing like that?" Forget the mundane task. Now I'm paying full attention.
"Yeah. It was a lady." Her hand is in her chest area again. "But she was lying down. Like this." She showed me the pose again.
"Hmmm. And what was she wearing?"
"Oh." Let's see . . . I don't often fancy naked pin-up girls; my son is three years old, and, while he might very well be interested in naked ladies, having been an avid connoisseur of breast milk, isn't likely to have found any in his Lightening McQueen coloring books. That leaves Daddy, now doesn't it? Has this *%#@! taken leave of his mind?! What is going on?! "Um. Wear did you see this picture again?"
"In your bathroom. What was she doing?"
"In my bathroom? Are you sure?"
"Yes. She didn't have a shirt on. It was a pink paper."
"Ooooooohhhhh." Just like that, Daddy's life is spared. "That's a card from the doctor. It helps ladies by showing them how to check for lumps or bumps so they don't get sick. It's from the doctor. That's all." It was a breast self-check card. Oh my.
1 day ago