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So, not so recently but not too long ago either, Jennifer posted on Facebook that I told her how babies were made when she was 4 yrs old. That would make me 6, and that would mean I knew what s-e-x was.

She swears I did,  but I have memories that conclude otherwise.

1) It was around this age that we freaking tried to talk to a bottle of Mrs. Butterworth syrup just because we saw it on a commercial. We were not street smart by any means.

2) we were raised so prude, that even to this day we can’t watch kissing scenes in movies without cringing. Even in cartoons.

3) My mom did let me watch a NOVA special on how babies were made. So I understood there was this giant egg, and little things raced to reach it, but like Highlander, there could only be one. When I realized the other things could have been my brothers and sisters I felt really sad for them. But I also got a sense of pride, of beating them, winning that first crucial race of life. I was the Highlander, beotches.

4) I tried to explain to a kid on my bus during a field trip how kids are made. I started off by saying there was an egg. He stops me, saying ‘Babies don’t come from eggs!” his grandma starts laughing, and I am resentful because she doesn’t help me out. She knew something and was holding it back. I am humiliated for the rest of the trip.

5) Around 5th grade, I get a dog. His name is Youpi. Youpi, through no fault of his own, has a reaction to uh, the springtime, I guess. You know, birds and bees stuff. Jennifer and I naturally assume his intestines are falling out of him, and start screaming. I had just read “where the red fern grows” and that’s how one of the dogs die, when she is eviscerated and her intestines fall out. We come to the conclusion that we have to push his intestine back in and bandage him. Poor Youpi. I search for a stick. Thank God we were too squeamish to do it ourselves. At this point we’re near crying. My dad comes running out and then goes ‘bah, he’s fine’ and walks back in the house without an explanation. Youpi looks confused but, strangely calm for someone eviscerated. Jennifer and I demand explanation, but our parents demur and kind of laugh at us. The problem resolves itself. We still have no idea what happened.

6) We consult our much worldlier cousin, Philip. Philip tells us his dog Sparky had the same issue, and that he was told it was just Sparky being “very, very happy.” All three of us are mystified. Then we get distracted on making a tripod chair and the question is forgotten.

7) Finally, a year later, while watching the Patty Duke show on Nick and Nite, Philip tries to explain it. I once again, bring up the egg (my knowledge hadn’t advanced past the 1st grade level  in all those years). Yes, Phil says patiently, but how do the things and the egg even meet? I had never thought to ask that. Phil speaks in vague metaphors and I still don’t get it. I don’t know how much he really knew at the time either, or if he only memorized those metaphors. He hints that it is something only parents do. I guessed hold hands for long amounts of time and /or French kissing. I go back to watching the show. I come to the conclusion I’m more like Cathy than Patty.

There are a few more stories I can add, but it only gets more embarrassing from here how much I didn’t know.

Ladies and gents of the jury, I rest my case.

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Published in: on September 30, 2010 at 3:47 am  Comments (6)  

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6 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. I remember using the Glad Plug-in commercial (“Plug it in, plug it in”) as a vague metaphor. I’m pretty sure I didn’t just memorize that from somewhere, but who knows, maybe I did. I can’t imagine where from, though.

    • That was totally it. I remember also, then you tried to describe it as an electrical outlet and plug, which was the same metaphor basically and did not help me much more
      This explains why my idea of a romantic setting would be a dinner surrounded by Glade plug-ins, and this song playing in the background, on repeat.

      • i guess you knew, but didn’t realize how much I wasn’t comprehending.

  2. I remember that somehow I knew about all the egg and sperm business, and how they had to get together. But since it had always been explained to me as something that happens once two people are married (I was also raised rather prude-ish), I got concerned when I started hearing news stories about unwed teenage mothers. Oh my god! What if your egg didn’t know that you weren’t married to that person, but maybe just standing really close or something!? (Since, to me, marriage meant standing really close to another person while some other dude said things at you.) How horrible to wind up pregnant due to proximity- confused egg! So I asked, my mom tried to sit me down for a “serious talk” instead of a straight answer, and then she proceeded to repeatedly leave health-clinic-esque pamphlets on the topic under my pillow even though I totally had the gist of things now. I asked my sister about everything worldly from then on.

    • HAhahaha. Yikes, I hadn’t even considered egg-confusion.
      At least you had a wise sister to ask. Poor Jennifer was stuck with me.

      • Well, my sister was 10 years older, so it was sort of a given that she’d be wiser than me.


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