I was sitting down at our kitchen table, trying to eat a sandwich, when my son walks up to me, out of nowhere, and tells me:
“Daddy, my friends at school, Gina and Olivia, like to touch my friend Trevor’s winky.”
Not quite believing what I heard, I gasped and almost choked on my sandwich.
Thinking I surely must have heard him wrong, I finally managed to (quite eloquently) stammer out:
“Gina and Oliva. They like to touch Trevor’s winky. He doesn’t like when they touch it, but they force him and then do it anyway.”
Since it seemed to work so smashingly the first time, I once again followed up with:
“I tried to get them to touch mine, but they didn’t feel like it”
I was on a roll: “You… they…. Did what?”
“Yeah, I took it out to show it to them, but no one seemed to care. I even tried to shove it into their hands, but no one wanted to grab it”
Holy Shit where the FUCK was Friz? I COULD NOT handle this conversation! I could not BELIEVE what it SOUNDED like we were suddenly discussing.
“I like it when people play with MY winky”
I thought “Well shit, me too!”, but I’m pretty sure that I didnt have THAT epiphany until Junior High!
He must have finally caught his breath long enough to notice that I was about to collapse from not having taken a breath in the last 2 minutes.
He looked at me and said, “Daddy, what’s wrong? YOU like playing with my winky, don’t you?”
It’s not very often where I find myself speechless, but THAT little gem sure as Hell did it for me. I was about to just break down in the fetal position and cry, when I FINALLY saw what he was talking about.
In fact, he had his “winky” in his hand the whole time we were talking.
Ladies and Gents, meet Winky.
That’s right. Winky is the name of his latest Zhu Zhu pet.
What a relief THAT was!
Now I'd like to put this whole sordid conversation behind me, as soon as i change my underwear and can find a way to dye my hair back to its natural color.