"Hey there, hot stuff! Like the shirt I got him?"
Gavin stood there proudly, pulling the hem of his shirt down so Claire could read it.
"Hung like a five-year-old?" she read, giving Drew the evil eye.
"I could have got him one like mine. They had it in his size," Drew said.
I think we can all say the shirt Gavin was wearing was a lot better than having one on that said, "Stare at me in disgust if you want to blow me".
Claire kicked Drew out, after thanking him for dropping off her stuff from Jenny, and decided to let Gavin keep the shirt on because, let’s be honest, it was just too funny to take off of him. I was nowhere near ready to leave Claire and Gavin yet, but I needed a shower and some clean clothes. Since Claire worked all day, I invited her and Gavin over to my place for dinner. And I told her to pack a bag for both of them.
I was frantically racing around my bedroom trying to find something to wear that said, "I want to bang your brains out after our kid goes to sleep but I don’t want to look too slutty or desperate". I washed and conditioned my hair three times, shaved my legs twice and put on enough lotion that Carter might be able to just borrow my legs the next time he wanted to jerk off. I stood by my dresser, holding up a pair of white lace thongs and tried to keep my towel wrapped around me by squeezing my arms against the sides of my boobs. I threw the white underwear back in the drawer. White was for virgins. I didn't want to be a virgin. I wanted to be a freak, a freaky hot chick that wore slutty red underwear. But not too slutty.
My cell phone rang and I struggled with the towel as I pawed through my dresser and reached for the phone. I answered it and held it against my ear with my shoulder.
"Wear the low-rise, red, lace boy shorts with the matching push-up bra."
"Liz, what the f**k? How do you...I didn't..." I stammered into the phone.
She let out a dramatic sigh.
"Well, crotch rot, since you weren't going to tell me you'd be riding the Carter Express tonight, I had to find out elsewhere."
"Liz, I just found out thirty minutes ago. I was going to call you, I swear. How the f**k do you know anyway?"
"Oh, Jim ran into Carter buying condoms at the grocery store - extra small. I didn't realize they made them in children's sizes."
"Ha ha, very funny, thunder cunt," I replied sarcastically. "Speaking of giant vaginas, I haven’t gotten any butt dials from you lately. Has Jim taken a break from spelunking in your bottomless pit lately?"
Gavin walked into my room then with his Toy Story backpack on. He was very excited at the idea of having a sleepover at Carter’s house. He argued with me that he could pack his own bag. I'd have to sneak a look into it when he was busy. The last time he went to my dad's, he packed one dirty sock, eight stuffed animals and a plastic fork.
"Liz, I have to go. Your godson just walked in and I need to finish getting ready," I explained as Gavin scrambled up onto my bed and started jumping up and down on it.
I snapped my fingers and pointed to the bed. He immediately kicked his legs out in front of his body and landed on his butt.
"Make sure you pack Children's Benadryl and duct tape. You don't need anyone yelling, "Mommy," when there's a penis in you. And no matter how much Carter tries to tell you otherwise, it is never hot if he says it. Never. Trust me."
I really didn't need the mental image of Jim screaming, "Mommy," while he railed Liz. I quickly ended the call and grabbed the red bra & underwear set from my second drawer. Liz bought it for me two years prior to wear on a blind date she’d set me up on. The guy showed up an hour early asking if we could just hit it so he could go. Apparently his mom needed her car back and wanted him to clean his room before she got home. Needless to say, the tags never got removed from the red lace underwear.
I shimmied into the bra while Gavin sat there staring at me through the mirror. I learned early on that it was impossible to do anything by yourself when you had a toddler. Covering myself up and running to hide behind a door if he walked in when I was getting dressed just made him even more curious and inquisitive. And by inquisitive, I mean annoying. It was best to just go about my business and if questions arose, I could handle them in a proficient and mature manner. In theory.
"Are you puttin' your boobs on mom?" Gavin asked.
I laughed and shook my head at his question.
"Well, this bra is mostly padding so I guess I am putting my boobs on."
I turned around to face him as I finished pulling the straps up and reached for my jeans I left laying across the foot of the bed.
"Hey, Mom, what are those red thingys?" he asked.
"What red things?" I replied distractedly as I pulled on my jeans and stood there staring at the four different shirts I laid out.
"The red thingies on your boobs."
I closed my eyes and bowed my head.
Okay, this was my chance to be an adult. He asked a reasonable question, so I should give him a reasonable answer. Right? But he’s only four. What is the appropriate age to learn the word “nipples”? Should I be honest with him or make something up? He was going to preschool in a few months. What if they were talking about baby bottles or saw a kitten drinking milk from its mother? If I made something up, my kid was going to be all, "Nuh-uh teacher. My mommy said those are called noo-noo-cows and they're just there for decoration."
My son would grow up scarred for life when everyone made fun of him for putting a noo-noo-cow on a baby bottle. I could hear Robert Dinero's voice in my head.
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