The kids and I had a VERY interesting conversation last night, a full eight nights after they returned from a weekend at my mom’s. Apparently, in between repeat viewings of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, they screened … something else.
MY INNOCENT CHILD, AGE 7: “Yeah, we saw this movie where the lady’s job was massaging vaginas.”
ME: “WHAT?! What are you talking about? WHAT DID YOU WATCH?!”
CHILD: “It was called, like, The Bad Moms Have A Christmas.”
ME: “Um, babe, the lady wasn’t massaging vaginas. She was *waxing* vaginas.”
CHILD: “What’s waxing?”
ME: “Like … uh. Yanking the hair off?”
Somehow I am now awkwardly pantomiming a bikini wax, in my pyjamas, while standing in front of his night light and holding a Robert Munsch book.
CHILD: “Oh … she also said ‘I wax weenies. That’s my job.'”
ME: *laughs weakly and texts my mother to be like WHAT THE HELL, MOM?* Do you remember anything else from the movie?
CHILD: “Yeah. There was a lady with lots of hair and the lady didn’t want to wax her vagina because it had too much hair so she didn’t wax that one.”
ME: …. Right.
OTHER INNOCENT CHILD, AGE 5: “I remember a part, too!”
ME: “Oh dear. What?”
CHILD #2, proudly: “The mom and the dad were kissing in the bed, and then HER mom was watching them kiss in the bed and they didn’t see her at first.
ME: Yep. I remember that part, too.
A hilarious text conversation with my mom ensued. She hadn’t known what kind of movie it was, and she turned it off when she realized what they were watching. (She was certainly surprised it made such a LASTING impression.)
“It is really pretty innocent,” she texted at one point. “Plus I was sick of watching SpongeBob.”
Oh, I get it. I really do.