Today I took the small child to the mall. I needed to buy a bra at a particular store – an identical bra to one that I already own and love – so I figured it wouldn’t take very long.
I may have bribed him with an offer of fast food for lunch if he was reasonably well-behaved in the store.
As I grabbed the appropriate size bra and walked into the change room, the sales clerk was nice enough to distract Maymo with “his very own chair to sit on!” and some polite conversation about beetles. All good.
The bra fit perfectly, I began redressing myself in my original clothes, and I heard a tiny voice say, “Mom? I didn’t SEE it.”
“See what?”
“The thing you are buying. I didn’t see it on you.”
“I know. I’ll be out in a second.”
“BUT I NEED TO SEE IT ON YOU. IS IT NICE?”
“Uhh.. it’s nice, but I’m almost ready to come out.”
I walked out of the change room and was greeted by the world’s most angry child. Angry, specifically, because he did not get to see me wearing the bra that I was trying on. He did not know if it was, in fact, “nice”.
“Why didn’t you COME OUT TO SHOW ME?”
“Because I didn’t need your help. And because people don’t usually walk around in the store wearing just a bra.” (Much to your father’s dismay.)
“Can I see it NOW?”
“Sure.” I handed him the bra, on the hanger, and he looked at it carefully.
“It’s very pretty, Mom. BUT I WANTED TO SEE IT ON YOU. GO BACK IN AND PUT IT ON.”
“Honey, it fits and I’m taking it home and it’s FINE. You don’t need to see it ON ME, you’re seeing it NOW.”
He was m-a-d. He stomped away from me – but still near enough that he could see me.
As I paid for my bra, I looked sideways and observed as he gently stroked the cup of a bra on display, smiling to himself. This is one of those moments I must remember for whenever he starts dating.
Apparently the love for boobies comes early for some males.
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LOL. I heart Maymo.
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too cute!
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I’m starting to think he is somehow mine.
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Aren’t you still in the province where it’s legal for women to walk around sans shirt, bra and pointing at the sky?
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Indeed, I am. However, I am also not particularly comfortable with modeling my bra for my son in a public place. Or at home, really, for that matter.
Which is not to be confused with something like embarrassment or shame, in that I wouldn’t scream and run if he walked into a room while I was changing.
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Oh I totally get that – it is as it should be IMO.
It’s just that here in the good old USA you could use the line: “Do you want your mommy to be taken away by the police and catch a disease in jail? Do you want to never go to a park again because mommy’s on the sex offender registry? Huh? Then drop it.”
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R.
Not all women point at the sky.
Just thought I’d add that.
Hehe. -
Sometimes I’m happy that my kid has no interest in bras, especially as they relate to me. It never occurred to me that he might. But he takes great delight in opening the bathroom door to expose me to the world at my most unattractive moment. That kind of deviltry deserves revenge.
But in spite of the oddity- Maymo has some interest in approving your choices which is kind of sweet. Because either he’ll grow up to be a fashionable very helpful to women gay man, or he’ll make an excellent boyfriend to girls. How can either of those scenarios fail to please?
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