August 30, 2013 By 1 Comment
|I was driving my seven-year-old son Nick and his buddy Ricky home from our swim club. Ah, I loved the easy days of summer spent poolside. A little chit chat with other moms, a short nap, and time to flip through trashy magazines. The only thing I didn’t like about summer was the incessant need to shave my legs and other more difficult to reach areas. As a woman of Italian heritage, daily shaving was another mark of summer. I’d never started fussing with my brows or upper lip – too much maintenance for me.
Ricky interrupted my hairy thoughts. “Which of my moms do you think is more masculine?” he asked.
But Ricky had two mothers and I guessed he’d need to work through a number of questions.
“I don’t think either of your moms is masculine,” I answered. Neither mom fit any butch stereotype.
“I know,” Ricky said. “But if you had to pick, which one would it be?”
“Karen,” I responded. Karen wasn’t masculine. Nor was she a girly girl. Nor was I.
“I’m probably more masculine than either of your moms,” I add. I’m trying to let Ricky know that his moms fit in the world of moms.
“Yeah,” Ricky responds. “Especially because you have that big dark mustache.”
Out of the mouth of babes. Okay, time to add lip waxing to the hair removal activities.