Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Too Much Information

2003-08-19
Monica and I had a long discussion yesterday ( well not that long but long enough) about parental sex. See I know for sure that my parents still have regular sex. Because my mother tells me about it. I am not sure how graphic a detail she goes into because I too busy ripping my ears off, pouring acid in them, letting elephants trample them, burning them with a blow torch and then re-attaching them.

I am encouraged by this knowledge because I think it means that Mr. Anyabeth and I will be enjoying ourselves long enough to gross out any spawn we happen to have. Especially given that my grandparents (who are EIGHTY) still do it.

However, I would really rather not know. Seriously. Donít make me go on Geraldo to put a stop to this.

My sister explained sex to me when I was five years old. This is the same conversation that she told me the truth about Santa. It was a traumatizing conversation. A lot like finding out that Mickey Mouse is really a pimply teenager in a costume and no matter how many galaxies you travel to you will never get to do it with Han Solo.

However, her information was shockingly accurate (she was only eight) and extremely timely. Because I walked in on my parents just a week and a half later. I had a bad dream and wanted some one to come re-tuck me in. I remember thinking, ďthat is even yuckier than I thought it would beĒ and ďif Abby was right about this what if she is right about Santa?Ē

Fast forward about ten years and this scene is repeated in far more gruesome detail on my parentís living room rug. I had been spending the night with a friend up the street when she and I had an argument (oh how I wish I could have just agreed that Pauly Shore movies were funny, it would have scalded my brain to think it but would still be better than what was about to happen) and I walked home. Only to find my parents enjoying a moment of childless freedom on the living room rug. My mother screamed, I screamed and I discovered that I inherited my ability to blush all over my entire body from my dad. Information that I really didnít need. After my retinas stopped burning my mom asked me to forget what had happened. Oh Mom, if only I could.

I have to admit MLH has a more traumatic story. His parents divorced when he was young and he had a more (shall we call it liberal?) upbringing. He walked in on his mother and her boyfriend with his mother handcuffed to a wall. Her only response was to tell him he should knock.

The only thing I have seen that competes with that is my motherís Nasty Drawer. Apparently my mother thinks that all women have a drawer that they keep their various sex toys and guides and fun things. Lovely. Just donít make it the drawer where you kept socks for your childrenís entire lives. I reached in for some gym socks and pulled out an eighteen inch dildo. That was BLUE.

There are certain things that you should never have to know about your parents. And now you know all those things about my parents.

8:12 a.m. :: comment ::
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