Some content may not be suitable for children...reader discretion is advised.
I should have that phrase tattooed on my forehead. Anyway, I've been thinking a lot about balls lately, due in part to this hilarious commercial.
Jayson's been home since Wednesday which means we're back to watching all the man channels on TV at a volume that can be heard from the space shuttle. This is because he's deaf in one ear and can't hear out of the other. I used to get confused as to which one is the bad ear until he gave me a little tip that helped to me to remember which is which. His deaf ear is the one that's always closest to me.
Jayson likes UFC which is on SpikeTV...all testosterone all the time. While he's watching the fights I'm usually in the living room with him either playing on my computer, reading, making jewelry or doing some other extremely important task that prevents me from cooking and cleaning.
I've gotten very good at tuning out the TV and rarely even pay attention to what he's watching. But lately the Axe Detailer commercial has grabbed my attention by the... .
Okay, yeah, it's inappropriate. But it's extremely well done inappropriateness and I can respect that. Jaime Pressly's facial expressions are perfect and I know we would be best friends if she would ever return my calls. I nearly bust a gut when she says, "throw those fuzzy suckers down here". And that other gal plays with those golf balls just long enough to make you really uncomfortable...which is the point so, good job! At the end of the commercial I am very touched by the way Jaime shows her humanitarian side when she breathes new life into Mr. Hackerman's dirty old balls. What a gal!
Obviously I have no problem with balls and could have fun talking about them all day long. This might cause a person to come to the conclusion that my moral compass is off and I've probably corrupted my 19 year old daughter as well. Yeah, not so much.
They say the apple never falls far from the tree but I don't think she and I were even in the same orchard. When it comes to morals, values and a sense of right and wrong and what's appropriate and what's not...Taylor is as straight as an arrow. I, on the other hand, have tied my arrow into a bow that suits my current mood. Needless to say, my daughter often shakes a disapproving finger at me. I used to be like her until I gave birth to her so I figure she'll loosen up eventually.
Back to balls. I know people have different terms they like to use for their body parts and I have no problem with that. In fact, most of the time, the proper medical term for some parts is more offensive to me than a slang word.
Take, for instance, vagina. It's just not an attractive word. And it makes me think of fajitas but I'm not sure why. Anyway, when Taylor was first learning about her body parts she would say that she had a front butt and a back butt. That worked for a while until she asked more questions which forced me to get a little more technical. Since my mother never even told me that I had lady bits much less what to call them, I thought I'd be all hip and mature and much better than she was by teaching my daughter the proper medical term for her parts. This backfired big time when she was about 3 years old and stood up in the cart in a very crowded grocery store and said in that glass cutting toddler shriek, "MY VAGINA ITCHES!!"
I did what any mother would do in that situation. I looked at her calmly and said, "it's a good thing your mother isn't here or she'd be really embarrassed."
Nowadays we respectfully refer to our girlie goodies as our hoo-hoo (sounds like who-who) or our vajayjay. Not that we sit around talking about it all day long, but it does come up in conversation from time to time.
When Taylor turned 6, she had her first slumber party which was also the first slumber party for most of her young guests. I think we had about 8 girls and one of the things we did to keep them busy was to help them put on a fashion show. My sister helped them into dress up clothes and jewelry in Taylor's bedroom, then they walked out into the living room to strut their stuff while I video taped.
One little girl had put on this little red sequined dress that my mother had worn for real when she was young but I wore it as a Halloween costume. As she got closer to the video camera, I noticed that she had stuffed wash clothes into the top of the dress to give her some cleavage. This really took me by surprise since the girls were only 6 and I wouldn't have thought they'd even think to go there.
As she walked closer I said, "what's that in the top of your dress??" She grabbed the front of her, uh, wash clothes, looked at me like I was an idiot and said, "you gots to have tits!"
Of course I nearly dropped the camera but I'd had enough experience with this kind of thing to know that if I made a big deal about it we'd never hear the end of it. If I ignored it, it would go away. So I ignored it. And it went away. But it was all I could do to keep from screaming, "NO! NO you DON'T gots to have tits!! We don't say that here!!"
We tend to be more conservative and refer to our chest area as the booblical area. Or, we may speak respectfully of our breasticles. No other euphemisms will do.
Since Jayson is the only man in the house, we spend much less time talking about man parts which is a shame since there are dozens of entertaining slang words that can be substituted for them. When Taylor was little, Jayson had started referring to his jewels, as in don't kick Daddy in the... . We avoid testicles since that might be confused with breasticles.
In our house a penis is a penis. There's no need to even substitue for that one since penis is already such a cute little word. I have a friend whose grandson calls it his manhood. I love that!
I think I had a point when I started this but now it's late and I forgot. It was something about how I think it's healthy to be able to laugh at balls. Or something like that.
My paternal grandmother was the most Godly woman I've ever known. She taught Sunday school at the local Big Baptist Church for 45 years. She loved the Lord. Jesus was her BFF. But she wasn't one of those stuffy Stepford Christians, she was the real deal. It didn't matter who she was talking to, she gave that person her undivided attention, made them feel like the most important person in the room and she would speak to the cleaning lady the same way she'd speak to the President.
When I was pregnant with Taylor I was talking with Grandma and I have no idea how the subject came up, but we ended up talking about sex. Which was weird. We'd never talked about that before and like I said, I'm not sure how we got there.
I remember telling her how I thought it was interesting that when men talk to each other about sex it's usually a bunch of bragging and lying. Or at least that's what I thought at the time. But when women talk about sex we are extremely graphic and brutally honest.
My grandmother said that she was just glad I was talking about it because she said that people who aren't talking about it aren't doing it either.
I think there's probably some truth to that but even if there isn't, that's the justification I use for most of my inappropriateness. It's just a sign of a healthy sex life. Which is good. So....balls.