Two things are on my mind in equal parts. First, my kids' current obsession with injecting the word "penis" into everything they say and second, the neighbor's 10-foot plastic snowman that has been slumped over - still glowing, mind you - for two months.
Let's talk about the marriage of Lady Gaga lyrics with penis talk, two of Jack's current favorite things. "Pa Pa Penisface Pa Pa Pa Penisface," sung to the tune of "Pokerface" is the refrain around here. Talk about karma! I spent months using "breast" as a verb ("She was breasting her turkey dinner") or adverb ("breastily cutting her turkey") or the stand-by noun ("turkey and gravy over breasts"). I knew this phase would come eventually, but I thought I might have a decade or so to mentally prepare. There is something just plain wrong about my three-year-old daughter asking for penis for breakfast.
And then there's Frosty the Penis Man in my neighbor's yard glowing in misery just a few yards away. I demand a show of hands from people who don't find these holiday decorations appalling. Huge, electric-powered, plastic bunnies/snowmen/pumpkins. What.The.Fuck. What a brazen use of resources. And by the way, neighbor, Frosty is slumped over because the season is O-V-E-R.
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