For some reason the older generation of women in my family were taught to not wear panties under their night gowns. They said it was to allow the “body” to breathe. I think it was for easy access, but when your 10 years old, is your mom really going to admit that? My sister and I are kinda freaked out by this practice, so we choose not to let our “body” breathe any time other than during a shower or “something else.”
Unfortunately, Grammy’s fancy notions have rubbed off on Michael, and he’s taken to wearing no underwear under his pajamas. This seemed fine since he wears pants, so I have allowed it. Hopefully he is better at wiping his rear end now than the time where he sat down on the floor to put his underwear back on after a trip to the bathroom and left skid marks on the carpet. So, anyway, no biggie right? Wrong! As I have told in the past, I failed to instill shame in Mikey. I was very forthcoming with bodily facts thinking that if the mystique was removed, thus would be the fascination as well. I forgot all about accounting for the testosterone that apparently has the side effect of penis worship.
The real problem is that, I have laughed in the past when Mikey would flash me as a toddler. Now it’s not so funny (to me at least). He is frightfully fascinated with diddling himself. I don’t mean to arousal or anything a thirteen year old would be inclined to practice, just constant contact. This whole “no underwear under there” philosophy makes the nether regions entirely too accessible. It’s far too easy for him to whip it out and show it off when watching TV or walking through the living room. We have come down hard on him for these silly antics, but somehow I still find him with his hand in his pants. Between that and chewing with his mouth open, he’s an Emily Post nightmare and the Sopranos next captain—lord knows he’s good at torture just by his sheer persistence.