The truth hurts.
This afternoon I was driving my oldest daughter to pick up one of her friends. She was telling me that to tease her, a boy in her class calls her "masterbator". The term is similar to our last name. I'm trying to teach Jasmine to stick up for herself. Quick wit is not one of her strong suits, and is sometimes imperative for fending off idiots.
"Tell him it would take a real pro to know a term like that." I told her
She looked a little confused "I don't get that." She said.
"Well, it means that he'd have to masterbate a lot to know the word masterbator. That way everyone would start laughing at him instead of you." I explained.
"Oh, ok. Good. That's funny." She said. " I just don't now what 'masterbate' means."
"You don't?" I was shocked. The kid just got a 90 on her health test who's major topic was "Wet Dreams - what are they?"
"No," she said earnestly "I really don't."
This put me at a major impass. I was terrified at the thought of explaining it to her, but if I don't she was likely to ask one of her friends. And let's face it, her friends are all idiots. So I took a deep breath, and layed it all out for her. With as few details as possible, of course. By the time I was done, we had arrived at her friend's place.
"Oh my God, that's disgusting. I'm going in to get her now." She avoided looking at me and practically ran from the car.
Some times the most horrifing thing about parenthood are the truths you have to tell your kids, and how much joy you take in grossing them out.