Parental Advisory: Don't say I didn't warn you, cause today's post may be a bit shocking. As usual, it's all true, though. I couldn't make this stuff up.
I remember the day I got The Talk. I was in sixth grade. I was getting ready to walk the just-short-of-a-mile-so-I-couldn't-ride-the-bus-to-school walk. My mom was watching the Today Show. She looked at me and said "I want to talk to you about something called periods." I looked at her and said, "Mom, we saw the movie at school. I know all about them." She said "ok, go to school," and that was The Talk.
My kids learned a lot earlier. I was pregnant with Seth, and we took a class at church about how to talk to your kids about sex, from a Christian perspective. Thomas had just turned five, and Jill was four, and couldn't say her R's right. We read them the cutesy books about where that baby was gonna come from, and one day, she plopped up on the arm of the recliner and announced, "I know wheya babies come from." (Remember, she couldn't say the R's.) "Oh yeah," I said, "where do they come from, honey?"
She holds up her hand, thumb and forefinger together, and says "Fuhst, you get a spuhm." Other hand goes up, pointer finger up, "then, you git an egg." Pointer wiggles toward the circle, and tickles the thumb and forefinger. "ee-ee-ee," squeaked she, as the "sperm" goes crazy on the "egg". "Then you git baby."
My jaw dropped. "Go tell Daddy," I said.
She goes in the kitchen, and a minute later, I hear "ee-ee-ee," followed by a shout of "Leee-SAH!" He was horrified, but she pretty much had it down.
Fast forward about ten years, and I'm sitting in the drive through of McDonald's with the heir to the throne and a bunch of his buddies, on their way to our house for a gaming get together (otherwise called a LAN). One guy is talking about ee-ee-ee's with his girlfriend. They must've forgotten that I was actually there, but I finally turned around and announced that I wasn't really sure if their parents wanted me to give clarifications of The Talk, but hey, when you're at my house, you get treated like family, so I had to clear up a few misconceptions (no pun intended) about some of the topics they were discussing. This led to a long discussion about all sorts of things, with 14 and 15yo boys actually asking questions, whilst eating their fries. Cause you know, when they are in the car, they are a captive audience, so it's a great time to bring up stuff. Ya just gotta be cool about it.
And so today, when I got yet another whacko sex question, I decided that I needed to post my Ten Commandments of EE-EE-EE.
1. You might want to think twice before hooking up with a Navy guy until they've been off the ship for a while.
Got a call at work the other morning. 7:30 in the morning, to be exact. Girl was 18 years old -- barely -- and she wants to know about how contagious scabies is. I asked her if she has symptoms, to which she informed me "no, I just had sex with a guy who was treated for scabies, and I don't know if he's contagious, cause he's peeling all over his manhood." That's verbatim, folks. At 7:30 in the morning. This leads to commandment
2. If it's peeling, draining, blistered, or otherwise encumbered -- step away. Quickly. Face it, that thing ain't particularly pretty on a good day, girls, but deviations from the norm, in this case, ain't a good thing. And any efforts to make it prettier, with a neon Maxim, or a French tickler is just tryin' to cover up the issue.
3. Please don't call the nurse to ask how soon a pregnancy test will come up positive if you had sex less than an hour ago. The nurse can't take a shower at work, and it just plain makes her feel dirty.
We had a doctor from Hong Kong at one of my former jobs. Shrimpy guy named Simon Wu. He liked to hang out in the nursery, because again, we were captive there, feeding babies. He used to come in and lament the fact that he couldn't find himself a American wife. As one of my co-workers decreed, the whole problem was Commandment
3. No woman with any self respect would go out with a guy with a butt smaller than hers.
She had a point.
4. Speaking the language of love sometimes ain't enough. A co-worker once got a call from a woman who wanted us to give a sexual how-to to her partner -- a much younger Hispanic guy who didn't habla ingles. You know, if you have to use the Language Line to explain the basics, how you gonna figure out the other stuff, like birth control and the clap? Honestly, it's just not a great idea, unless you have $4.95 a minute for a translator, BEFORE you get too close.
5. Regardless of what the frat boys at Butler University thought when they called me to settle a bet: a herpetologist studies snakes, NOT herpes. (There was probably some beer involved in that one.)
6. A girlfriend *might* be a fiance, but never a baby mama. And please girls, check out how many baby mamas he has, before you get too close, cause three's a crowd, in my own lowly opinion. Four or five is even worse. And guys, if you happen to have more than one baby mama with a bun in the oven at the same time, please don't bring 'em both to the hospital at the same time. I've been there, and it gets downright messy.
I got a call this morning from a girl who had some spotting, in the afterglow. She was nine months pregnant, and had called at 4am last night, and the nurse told her to go to ER. She didn't go, because she didn't have a ride. This leads to number
7. Never hook up with a guy who doesn't have a car at his disposal. Realistically, you never know when a sex injury could occur. I once had a call at 1:30 am from a guy whose wife went totally out "while she was sleeping." He couldn't figure out how to get her to the hospital, because she was laying there, with back spasms, screaming. And naked.
There's also that whole latex allergy thing, so you're better off with private transportation than without.
This also leads to number
8. If I am nine months pregnant, leave me the hell alone at 4 a.m. Come to think of it, even if I'm not pregnant, if it's 4a.m., leave me the hell alone. 'Nuff said.
9. If there is a second pink stripe on the test, it's positive. Doesn't matter HOW pink it is, it's positive, but
10. The test won't tell you who the baby daddy is. WE can't tell you who the baby daddy is. DNA, and about 500 bucks CAN tell you who the baby daddy is. Spend the money.
True story -- we had a patient once at the hospital who wasn't sure who the baby daddy was, so she brought both of the possible donors with her to the delivery room. One was Hispanic, and one wasn't. After the delivery, the mama asks the nurse who she thinks the baby looks like. Nurse responds "I don't know," leans down to the baby and says "como estas?" Cracked the nursery nurse up, but the baby wouldn't tell.
And so, from the world of you-can-still-be-covered-up-and-be-sexy, here's a coolcurvy vintage Jantzen swimsuit, from aren, on ebay. In nursey nurse white, for purity, of course.