Psst.... c'mere. C'mon... lean in a little closer. I'm going to tell you all, my dearest friends ever, people whom I trust as I trust no one else anywhere, a little secret. But be forewarned. This secret is so awful, it could forever change the way you think of me. Still here? Still leaning in close, so that your significant other, sitting behind you on the sofa watching TV while you blog, can't read over your shoulder so well? Still willing to risk our fantastic Internet relationship by learning my secret? Well then, don't say I didn't warn you.....
I am a totally clueless, completely naive, innocently trusting mother.
What? You don't believe me? You want proof, you say? Are you sure? Because giving you proof only makes me look worse. *sigh* Ok, ok. I see you won't just trust me on this one. Fine.
You are all familiar with my teenage son. I know I've mentioned a time or two, at least in a vague reference, his growing fascination with the female form and how it affects his own form. (Stop snickering over there!) You probably also, rather astutely if any of you are as smart as I give you credit for being, assume that we don't censor quite as much as a lot of parents with children the same age as ours. Most of the time, Coach and I are there and can control what gets seen and heard; so rated R movies and rated M games generally aren't a huge issue here. At least not for the teenager.
Occasionally, this open policy completely backfires on us. As in, blows up in my face backfires on us.
Have any of you seen the movie Good Luck Chuck? If not, learn from what I'm about to tell you. This movie is not appropriate for anyone under 18. Certainly not for your teenage children just getting acquainted with their hormones. Especially if those children are of the male persuasion.
Anyway..... Coach and I hadn't seen the movie yet, either, when it came in the mail the other day. In fact, we weren't even really sure what it was about. I'd put in on our stupid movie list months ago, and couldn't remember why. (Obviously, I don't check that thing often.) So, when it got here, and Jock asked if he could watch it while we were both at work, we shrugged and figured Why Not?
Later that night, when asked how the movie was, he simply told us it was inappropriate for Bug to watch, as there was a "little bit" of nudity. He admitted to there being "some" boobage, and then (even though we both knew I didn't believe this next part AT ALL) proceeded to tell me that he even closed his eyes and didn't really watch that. And really, it was only about 30 seconds of boobage, Mom.
Oh.My.GAWD. Coach and I sat down and watched this movie tonight. I am appalled. I am shocked. I am mortified.
I am the Worst!Mother!EVER!
My son, whom I've been hoping against hope will make the decision to abstain until at least after high school, who I'd like to keep believing doesn't know eighteen thousand different slang terms for the actual sex act, now has visual knowledge of several different positions generally only referenced in the Kama Sutra. And then there was the rather disturbing stuffed penguin interlude during the closing credits.
Unfortunately, this severs the tenuous hold I had on placing in the Mother of The Year competition. All the early morning taxi rides in the world can not fix this. Its time for some serious rehabilitation.
When Jock gets home this coming weekend from Football Camp, I'm planning a marathon of Disney movies. I have visions of sitting him down, Clockwork Orange style, and re-educating his brain in the little remaining time I have left before he goes back to school in two weeks.
And if that doesn't work, I'm pulling out the Ultimate Weapon.
A full day of The Care Bears.