I have…well, a toy.
You catching my drift? Great.
Years ago, when my partner and I were young, wild, and child-free, I agreed to host a party. You know, the kind where you sell items like LuLaRoe or Thirty One — except this one featured plastic phalluses, bizarre-flavored gels, and edible underwear. (By the way, I examined those edible undies once, and they resembled a fruit roll-up. Who wants to munch on something that looks like it has hair stuck to it? Plus, let’s be real: there’s nothing sexy about the way anyone chomps on a fruit roll-up. Just saying.)
Unfortunately, just an hour before the party, I came down with a wretched stomach bug — too late to cancel. So, I hunkered down in our bedroom with a trash can by my side, while my partner took over hosting duties. To my surprise, he was a natural at selling adult toys (who would’ve guessed?). He did such a fantastic job that everything sold out, and I got to choose something for free. Naturally, I picked a large, blue, glittery, motorized, rotating phallus.
Fast forward a few years to when our oldest son was about five. After reorganizing our bedroom closet, he began digging through some boxes when I suddenly heard a frantic buzzing sound, followed by a wide-eyed “whoa!” My heart nearly stopped. I whipped around to find, uh, Big Blue in all its spinning, vibrating glory, firmly clutched in my son’s tiny hands. “What’s this?” he asked, eyes as big as saucers.
Oh no. Stay calm, I told myself. If he thinks it’s forbidden, he’ll want it more. “It’s…an antique,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant as I snatched it away. “I’ll just put this away.” My face burned with a level of embarrassment that comes only from your child innocently discovering your vibrator. I ushered him toward the closet door, closed it, and hid Big Blue on the highest shelf behind some junk.
“What’s an antique?” he asked through the door.
I honestly can’t recall what I told him — those kinds of moments tend to blur in memory. However, it must have made an impression because not long ago, we were visiting my mother, and I teased her about a ceramic cat she bought back in the ‘80s. “If you keep that cat much longer, it’s going to be an antique,” I joked.
To my surprise, my son chimed in, “Hey, like your antique!”
I was baffled. I don’t have any antiques. “What antique?” I asked.
“You know,” he huffed, sounding incredulous that I didn’t get it. “The antique in your closet? The big sparkly blue thing that buzzes and spins? What happened to it? Is it an old toy? Can we get it out and play with it?”
Oh. My. Gosh.
My son was referring to my vibrator (in front of my mother, no less!), of which he knew nothing other than that it seemed like a cool gadget. And “an antique.”
“Oh, that?” I said, trying to act casual while dying inside. “I think I tossed that out ages ago.”
But, truthfully? I didn’t really. But now, I might.
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In summary, parenting is full of surprises, and some moments are better left unmentioned—especially when it comes to your “vintage” items!