My 10-year-old daughter, Aria, recently told me that one of the kids she met at a dinner, a kindergartener, brought a
“rubber” in to school for show and tell. To be fair this isn’t exactly how she
said it. In fact, she could barley say it. She started laughing her head off,
trying to say the word “rubber.” I don’t actually think she knows what a rubber is (who even says rubber anyway?) only that it’s something
private for grown ups. But the real kicker was, the kid found it in his parents' bedside table.
Of course this got me thinking, Oh my god. If my kids
went into my two drawer beside table, they would
be scarred for life. Last year I was invited to cover a SexPo thing for my
blog, Groomed LA, and left with several life-size vibrators in various shapes, colors and sizes. When I say
life-size I mean horse life-size. Some were “anatomically correct.” Some were
pink and bedazzled. All looked like weapons of
mass destruction. For the record, I used none. In fact, I’ve never been one to
shove fake anatomy inside my very real body, but man were they fun to pull out at all-girl dinner parties. I soon threw them out though because I couldn’t handle the thought of my
housekeeper finding them.
Trying to explain anything about self-pleasuring devices is a conversation I expect to never have.
Still, the drawers have some stuff. That day I was also
given enough condoms to outfit a high school. And there are maybe five of the subtle vibrational devices that I did keep, but
only because they look so cool. I still can’t figure out how to use them, but apparently
you can use your phone as a remote, which is so never happening.
Nevertheless, I get a little anxious because they are there and they'll turn on if one of my kids touch them.
There is also an
entire set of oils and creams that heat up and taste like candy. (Once again,
this has all been sent to me to review.) If my kids pour this cream on them they
will start to heat up and taste like chocolate. There is a massive Brookstone back massager from 1993
that I can’t seem to quit. This motherlode device looks like it’s designed
to get the kinks out of a 250-pound wrestler and is my go-to.
It’s so easy to tell my kids it's used to work out thighs post spin class, which it is ... 1 percent of the year.
But for most of these objects, I wouldn't know how to explain them. It seems any right-minded parent would hide this stuff. I remember my parents had a box of porn and weird stuff given to them as a "joke" from their friend who owned Hustler magazine. I cannot imagine they ever used any of it, but as a kid, it sure was fun to rummage through this forbidden box in my mom's closet. I was totally intrigued and curious, and it actually shifted my perception of my parents. I wasn't sure what I was looking at but somehow it made me see them as having a whole separate life from their parenting personas.
I am sure that if my kids scan the things in my drawer, none of it will truly register. But if they bring any of it up, I feel responsible to demystify the object, even if it feels weird. So during the funny "rubber" conversation, I told Aria yes, I have them, too. I explained it's for intercourse so a woman doesn’t get pregnant. (I didn’t get into the STD aspect. Please, this was hard enough.) She just cracked up. As for self-pleasuring devices, no way am I telling them the truth. It's a conversation I expect not to have any time soon (hopefully not until their late teens).
Until then, I'll brace myself for the moment when my kids will come knocking on my door, holding a pair of adult handcuffs and asking if they could borrow them for a game of cops and robbers.