I just read another blogger’s post and I’m still in shock. Now typically, I’d link her, give her cred. But I can’t. It was a post about TMI – and frankly, it was TMI. (Too Much Information for those of you not in the know)
Now, please, if you’re reading this, Miss X – please know I’m kidding. Sort of.
I’m a pretty private person. I wrestle with how much to reveal here.
But I’m also a horrible voyeur. I never thought I’d enjoy reality television – but I do. I don’t watch every season but I’ve been known to dabble in Real Housewives (New York is my favorite), Amazing Race (I loved the family season), American Idol (I guess they let “Big Mike” stay in it to win it) and yes, I’m embarrassed to say I even watched Joe Millionaire. (But I just watched THAT show because I wanted to see the expression on the girls faces when they found out he wasn’t really a millionaire but a construction worker.)
So, I admit. I have voyeuristic tendencies.Hey, it’s why I enjoy your blogs so much. Makes me feel normal.
But Miss X’s blog post talked about sex. And vibrators. And loving sex. And describing sex. And that’s when I started blushing. And there was no one in the room to see it or even know what I was reading and blushing about.
My mother was a nurse. We always called our vagina, our vagina. My boys call their penis (you guessed it!), their penis. My mother very matter-of-factly discussed every aspect of our sexuality with us from the time we could point and ask what “it” was. We were armed with books. Loads of information. There was never a question too personal. She always answered, calmly and factually.
But talking about grown-up, consenting adult sex (or solo sex, as the case may be)? I can’t do it. (Talk about it, that is. Of course I can DO it. I have proof.)
Evidently, I’ve had this problem for a very long time.
When I was about 11 years old, I came to my mother with a question. She was making dinner. Oh good, a captive audience.
“Mom? Is this what sex is?” (And apparently, I proceeded to describe the mechanics of sexual intercourse. Which I’m not going to fully illustrate here – because, as I’ve said, I get quite embarrassed.)
She replied, “Yes. That’s what sexual intercourse is.”
“And THAT’S how you get babies?” I asked incredulously.
“Yes,” she said. Very matter of fact. (Did I mention she was a nurse?)
“But you and Dad don’t do that. Right?” I asked, with a horrified look on my face.
She said, “Well, when two people love each other….”
But I didn’t hear the rest. I ran out of the room and slammed my bedroom door. Apparently, I didn’t speak to my mother for days after and could barely look her in the eye.
So yes, I’m a voyeur. I suppose that’s why Miss X’s post wasn’t really TMI for me. I enjoyed reading it.
But there’s no way I’m going to share that much with you all.
No.
Way.
Uh-uh.
Ain’t gonna happen.
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