I've been finding myself ambushed lately by sex questions. And not the fun kind. Last week my five-year-old son asked me if I had a baby in my tummy. (You may recall that this is the same genius who responded to my explanation of how babies get out of their mommies with "What if you're wearing pants?"). When I explained that—no—there was no baby and never would be, he wanted to know if that meant I could never "get close to Daddy." Hmmm. Who's been getting to this kid? Could it be, perhaps, my ten-year-old daughter (aka the #1 Fan of the Birth Video Exhibit at the Museum of Science) who somehow lured me into a conversation yesterday about "condors" and how they work? I won't scare you with the details.
I guess my question for the Shake-Ball this week is: What have I done, and is it too late to stop it?
Answer:
"I'll go no more.
I am afraid to think what I have done.
Look on't again I dare not."
(Macbeth 2.2.47-49)
Interpretation: Uh-oh.
Oh dear. While you have my honest, sincere sympathy, I also laughed really, really hard at this post. (So tell me, how DO condors work, anyway?)
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