Just today a friend was telling me her 3 year old son was asking why she sits down to wee. To be honest, he put it far better than I did. His exact words were “Mum, do you wee out your bum because you don’t have a ding dong?”. It obviously lead his young and impressionable mind to wondering about the where and hows of such things and the sad and sorrow filled existence a ding dongless person must lead.
It reminded me of an awkward conversation I had with a random schoolyard friend whilst collecting one of the offspring from day care. I happened to be discussing missing teeth, the oldests first missing tooth specifically. In talking through the state of his gums, I unfortunately stumbled upon a trigger word. I described the gap as a hole.
Suddenly, aforementioned friend invited herself into our chat with this pearly monologue of wisdom. “I have 3 holes and my brother has 2 holes. Girls have 3 holes and boys have 2 holes.”. Anatomy 101, brought to me by a 3 year old. I think I blushed. It’s not that it was news to me, just that I wasn’t expecting such intimate details to be divulged quite so openly and in public. She hadn’t even bought me a drink. I decided to beat a hasty retreat, take all 7 of our holes and get them into the car as quickly as possible, to avoid any further revelations.
On numerous occasions our children have referred to my doodle, the household word, usually with some insinuation of violent malice to be performed on it, in a charmingly boyish way, as only charming boys can do. It seems they just can not comprehend an existence without this vital appendage. I have been frisk searched and felt up in disbelief after claiming not to have been endowed with the equipment.
Surprisingly, to me at least anyway, they are not even remotely perturbed by the fact that girls have boobies and boys do not. In fact they are almost indignant when I even jokingly suggest that their manly torsos could be referred to using the quite obviously inferior and completely gender specific term.
We haven’t yet needed to describe any other gender specific parts and for that, I am, as long as it lasts, quite grateful. Regardless of how clinical and scientific terms seem to sound on the lips of consenting adults, they never do when yelled at top volume through the grocery isles, where all new words, quite apparently, need to be tested out. Just to make sure they sound right, of course.