I had the talk with my son the other day.
I decided it was time to have this little talk with him while I was putting him to bed the other night.
Me: “Here you go, Cam…good night…and…um..”
His arm looked funny under his blanket.
Me: “What are you doing under there?”
Me: “Cam…what are you doing?”
He’s an easy read, so I knew he was lying.
He was holding it in his hand.
Me: “Oh, buddy. Really? Come on!”
He looked ashamed.
I didn’t want to have this talk with him.
He is only 6 after all.
But I HAD to. This was getting a little out of hand, so to speak.
This isn’t the first time I’ve caught him, you know…doing it.
He was embarrassed.
Me: “Buddy..listen. You can’t keep doing that. It’s not healthy.”
Cam: “I know.”
Me: “Trust me. I know this. I do it almost all the time myself.”
Me: “Yeah. Really. It’s really hard having to hide it from your mother. But sometimes you have no choice, you know?”
Cam: “Yeah..I know.”
He looked a little relieved.
Me: “But, dude…you just can’t keep doing it in your bed. Look at your sheets. It’s disgusting.”
Cam: “I know. I can’t help it.”
Me: “You know, I know it seems like it’s the only way. But if you’re going to do it, at least put it in a tissue and throw it in the trash, okay? Getting it all over your bed is just disgusting. If your mother saw this, she’d be screaming at you.”
He knew I was right.
So I reached into his hand, picked up the little booger he was holding between his fingers, and threw it in the trash.
He does it all the time.
Why? What were you thinking?
OH YOU SICK, SICK BASTARDS.
He’s SIX for chrissakes.
I didn’t start jerkin’ my gherkin til I was at LEAST 7.
There had to be, like, 50 of them sitting there.
It was like a little booger graveyard where an army of zombie boogers rose from the grave where in this analogy ‘grave’ means ‘nostrils’ and the analogy pretty much dies here because I don’t think boogers will eat peoples’ brains but you never ever know because I think the jury is still out on what boogers, if reanimated by a meteor somehow, will actually do.
So, maybe I’ll just say ‘shitload of boogers.’
But they were EVERYWHERE.
I don’t know how he doesn’t wake up every morning looking like Edward James Almos or the ‘before’ photo in a ProActiv commercial.
Whatever. He’s a picker.
Just like his old man.
But if he starts whacking off at the rate I do when he gets older, this is going to be a lot harder to hide from his mother.
But at least I’ve got a lot of practice on that, so that talk should be cake.