Strip Club Manager.

shocked-woman

Add Strip Club Manager to my resume.

That’s right. I’ve been spending my days basically working in a topless bar of miniature people.

I thought I had heard it all and seen it all as our days of butts finally began to dwindle to an end. Little did I know what was lurking around the corner. Little fleshy buttons were around the bend. That’s right, nipples.

My kids are obsessed with nipples.

My household has turned into one big topless franchise. It started with my eldest and the phenomena quickly attached to my younger son.  Wearing shirts was decided as being overrated according to my three children. My six-year-old went thirty-six hours wearing no shirt.  The streak was only broken in order to put on a shirt for school which was quickly stripped off the second he entered the house.  Not being sexist, my daughter caught on to the trend. Now you will not only see two little boys running laps around our yard with their skinny lanky bodies in the sun but you will also find my petite munchkin of a daughter peddling along on her pink tricycle … topless.

This whole no shirt thing  was a battle I decided to not pick.  After all,  it would be the only time in their lives that this nude behavior would be accepted. Have at it little Halperins.  As always my children proved my parenting choices wrong. Though seemingly innocent the whole situation unfortunately took an expected turn … for the worst and the weird.

As I prepared another gourmet home cooked meal (or whatever fit into a crock pot that day) my three growing bundles of joy ran through the house topless. Shrieking in chaotic joy as they chased after one another giggling.  I heard my youngest son yell “Kiss my nipples!” as he cupped his hands over his chest running from his brother and sister. I stopped mid-cooking-utensil in hand not sure if I had heard him right. I was reassured that my ears hadn’t fooled me when he proceeded to yell again “Kiss my nipples!!!” as he ran past me with my other two on his tail. I spun around and entered the living room behind them as I barked “What are you saying???”  and without hesitation he responded “We are playing kiss my nipples.”  I calmly asked where he had heard about this game and he said his brother. I turned my attention to my eldest asking where in the world had he learned this from and he said … his brain. Not having a chance to think this whole thing through I quickly broke into explanation as to why this was not a game that should be played. Like an out-of-body experience I heard myself say “Listen, only married people kiss one another’s nipples. Nipples are private parts that no one should be touching or kissing unless you are married like Mommy and Daddy.  Nipples are special parts of our bodies that should only be touched when we are washing in the shower.”  As I heard myself say the words I knew it was a possibility that I could be opening a door to a whole other conversation or possibly an interesting story being told to teachers at school.  My fears dissipated as they shook their heads yes and replied in unison, “Okay Mom” with no further questions asked. (Nor have I had any interesting calls from teachers … yet).

Though the nipple games have stopped and my daughter is choosing to wear a shirt more I was reassured that the strip club status of our home is still in full swing this morning.  My youngest son walked into the kitchen, topless, with a pair of sunglasses around his tiny narrow chest exclaiming “Look mom! I’m covering my nipples like you said!”  and quickly ran out the door to join his topless brother and sister in the yard.

I can only imagine what’s next.

 

 

 

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