Every day I pick up my 15 year-old, who you see here in deep concentration studying like there's no tomorrow, from school. Today our conversation went like this:
"Mom. Guess what we had to do in health?"
Me: "IDK. What?"
"We had to learn about breast and testicular exams. We had to go in separate rooms. The girls watched a video with actual breast exams in it. It was SO gross. I thought I was going to be sick."
Me: "Why? What was so gross?"
"They looked so weird. Oh Mom, they were so disgusting. I mean, why couldn't they at least get normal, average ones to show this with?"
Me, to myself: "Linda. Here is a teachable moment. Commence the mom-speech."
So I said aloud: "Ah, but I'm guessing they were normal breasts. Were they droopy and lopsided and wrinkly and such?"
"Yes! OH, disgusting!!!"
Me: "See, you're just used to TV and movie breasts. Real ones don't look like that for longer than 15 minutes in actual life. What you saw today is what real female breasts look like. Always remember that old song: 'All God's chillun [and their breasts] got a place in the choir. Some sing lower; some sing higher.'" (Some swing lower, too.)
Result: Three minutes of silence offered up in mourning and dismay for all the ugly breasts in the world, and one minute of deep, disturbed confusion over that bizarre "God's Chillun" song.
Her: "Still, I felt like Monk when he went into the art gallery and couldn't look at the nude models. He kept his hand over his eyes, and Natalie said to him, 'Mr. Monk, the human body is a beautiful thing,' and Monk said, 'You see, that's where our opinions differ.' I couldn't look. I could not even look!"
Sigh. Oh to be 15 again, when you're just sure the world will always be young and beautiful. When you go to see Leatherheads, and your mom asks you if George Clooney is cute, and you say, "Mom--he's an old man." And you have to have your dog beside you when you do your homework or you can't "concentrate."