I got some Sears catalogue today called Euro Style. After perusing the entire catalogue, I do not remember one piece of clothing within. I do remember the breasts. Perfect, perky, cleavage-showing, tanned, voluptuous-without-sagging breasts. Euro Style indeed. Us poor Canadians with our weird sized, pasty skinned, gravitational pulled boobs supported by the standard white underwired bra found in the Sears of yesteryear…
If you’re not sure what I’m talking about, please come on over to my house. Kaya is in an announcing stage right now. “Mommy!” she yells while raising her arms in victory as I walk in a room. Pointing to Bal, “Daddy!” she says loud and definitively. “Riley!” she continues while chasing her dog around the room. “Nose!” she bellows only because she loves noses. Then out of nowhere, in one swift motion, she clambers onto my lap, pulls down my tshirt and cries “Booby!”
Shortly after it is time to change her bum. “Bum!” she continues her broadcast, only she is slapping at her front-side, not back-side. “Oh baby,” I sigh “That is not your bum. That is your vagina.” She stares. “See, this is a bum!” I encourage while shaking my booty at her. But she could care less. She has learned a new word.
“A-nine-a! Anina! Anina! Anina!”