The Bagina Monologues

watermelon from our garden

Sand Castles!!!

"Whose idea was it to read them that book?" Dart Guy asks, looking annoyed. Destructo runs through the house crying out Bagina! Bagina! You have a Bagina!
"That's not nice," Spitfire bites back. She looks with calculation from the the book she is reading. "You have a peeeeenis!!"
"We have to teach them about their bodies," I say defensively at Dart Guy's retreating back. Dart Guy leaves the room, mumbling under his breath about the PC police, and looking for a beer, or any other viable escape from a room full of loud, bodily declarations. I admonish both kids, explaining, for the hundredth time, that we don't make fun of private parts, and that we absolutely, positively, with no amount of uncertainty, DO NOT TALK ABOUT THEM IN PUBLIC.
I unhappily envision conversations like this while in line at the grocery store, or in a crowded sanctuary at church during VBS. I ponder writing up a response to memorize as a preemptive strike. Something like, I have never seen these children before. . . or, their father is to blame (sorry Dart Guy). . .