Drip feed

drip‘I’m not going to want to marry someone who’s into pink’ marque 2 declared on the drive home from school. It’s one of those announcements that a parent must run with. Probe a bit further. Even if the others are drumming up a prohibitive volume in the back.
‘What sort of person do you think you would like to marry then?’
‘Someone I can really talk to, who listens, who understands me, who is fun. I wouldn’t even mind if she’s not pretty. It’s her character that’s important. I’d be interested in her character’.
Something in my head goes score. He is ten years old. Let’s hope the tumultuous hormonal surge that’s on the way leaves him with similar values.

We are doing the sex talk thing on a drip feed, need to know basis, rather than the sit down all encompassing once off, phew, tick it off the list. It’s a risky business though. While eating our dinner recently, supposedly just the two of us, marque 1 arrived and sat on the couch. There was an ad break on TV. An ad dealing with one of those embarrassing situations came on. I thought it would go over his head, mumbo jumbo, time for bed, up you go now.

‘What’s premature ejaculation Dad?’ he piped up, crisp and clear. Again it was one of those things you just can’t ignore. I was more than a little pleased that it wasn’t directed at me. I cast my eyes at my plate, old school, and waited for the response. He is the proponent of this drip feed approach. I was eager to see how it was turning out. In fairness he didn’t miss a beat. He tripped off the words, as if to a peer, and managed not to choke on his king prawn masala. ‘Oh, ok, thanks’ marque one said and was only short of shaking his hand for his candour.

He is hired for the drip feed task X 5. Phew…

Ellen Kelly

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