Girls, Girls, Girls

Was driving down Venice Boulevard when I was startled my then 4 year old son was reading signs.

“Girls, Girls, Girls” my son exclaims with great pride from the back seat.  OMG! He is reading the sign!!!

I look over and see what he sees…a huge, red neon sign screams “Girls, Girls, Girls”.  I’m elated, overjoyed, startled. “Yes! Yes!  Yes! That’s right, Jett. That is what the sign says.” I reach over at a red light and give him a high five.  I beam with pride, and in my head, I begin planning my son’s application to Berkley .

“Is that a store of girls?”, my son asks with curiosity.

“Ugh. Kind of”… I stumble, am confused, and suddenly shocked.

“Can we play with them?”, he quizzes with sheer joy and innocence.

“No, not today” I respond. I feel flop sweat swarm over my entire body.

“Another day?” Jett adds, mimicking my usual sort of response.

“Sure. Another day”….you know…give or take 15 years.

And that my friends, is how I realized my son is reading, and motherhood can be a serious f#$%g minefield at any given moment.

I know it’s illegal to drink and drive, but that afternoon driving down Venice Boulevard, I certainly wanted to make an exception.

Play dates with Playmates

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