I want to preface this with a note that I was hoping not to have any part of this conversation with any of my kids for a long, long time. Posthumously would have been fine. But then, if I’d really not wanted to engage in this kind of conversation, I shouldn’t have let them watch Joan Rivers.
Reigning Queen of Pink: “Mommy, what’s ‘gay’?”
Spouse of the Big Ugly Man Doll: “That means that a man prefers dating other men instead of women; or, for women, that they prefer dating women.”
RQoP: “I’m a lesbian.”
SOBUMD: [Spits her wine] “What?”
RQoP: “I think boys are icky, so I’m a lesbian.”
SOBUMD: “You’re 8 years old. You’re *supposed* to think boys are icky at your age – and you’re right, 8-year-old boys *are* icky. When you get older, old enough to date, then you can decide if you’re a lesbian. Everyone is different.”
Big Ugly Man Doll: “RQoP, you see, everyone is a little of everything – it’s just a matter of degree. For example, I’m 93 percent attracted to women, 5 percent attracted to men, 2 percent attracted to goats and sheep, and 100 percent attracted to Mommy.”
Human Tape Recorder: “So, you’re a Mommysexual?”
BUMD: “Shut up, kid, and stop eavesdropping next to our door.”
HTR: “Duh, stop making so much noise!”
RQoP: “So when can I be a lesbian?”
BUMD: “Not until you’re 30. Daddy’s very gender-neutral about this, you’re not dating anyone until you’re 30, male or female, two legs or four. My little girls aren’t dating ANYTHING until they’re 30.”
SOBUMD: “He means 13.”
BUMD: “Twenty-nine, and that’s my final offer.”
Yeah, posthumously would have been the better bet.