I know, you’re asking yourself, now why in the world is she posting a lame clip from a truly lame 80’s movie? Well, because today, in an effort to fill the day with fun activities, I jumped into a deep jacuzzi tub with the girls. Or shall I say, my two daughters and I jumped into the tub and Kate discovered my girls?
This toddler seems to show a lot more interest in human anatomy than the other two did. I spent the better part of bath-time being felt up, tweaked, twisted and pinched by a grabby two-year old. As she performed a dual boobie twist, I was reminded of the line, “Tune in Tokyo.”
It all started when I turned the jets on and the bubbles accumulated. Suddenly, Kate became enthralled with a new game called Find the Nipples.
To begin with, I’m not all that modest. I don’t feel the need to cover my girl parts when the kids come crashing into the bathroom. In my past, I had no problems with topless beaches when visiting another country. However, I draw the line at letting a kid use my boobs as another disposable play thing.
A few months ago, I left the television in the kitchen on for background noise. Normally, as soon as The View comes on, I run to turn the channel. I can’t stand the cackling noises that come from that group of women as they vehemently argue about things like Charlie Sheen’s parenting skills or Chris Brown’s violent behavior. Yet, about twice a year, I find myself sucked in to their weird conversations, like the time Elizabeth Hasselbeck described peeing in a diaper while stuck in traffic.
On one particular show this winter, that bunch of cackling hens clucked about bath time with their children. Barbara piped in and explained how, when her daughter was little, they “bonded” during their communal baths. I thought, huh…I do that, but I never looked at it as a bonding opportunity. More like, I’d love to take a Jacuzzi tub but the minute I run the water, the kids come running as if candy is dripping from the faucet. I say if you can’t beat them, let them hop in.
Gwen never showed any real fascination with my boobs beyond complimenting me on their size. Apparently, in Gwen’s mind, my boobs are GINORMOUS, which is funny because I can buy training bras in the kid’s section at Target or, in the alternative, skip the bra altogether. Gwen never grabbed a boob.
Kate digs boobs. Kate likes to play Radio Operator with my boobs. She’ll stop at nothing to locate boobs. Nothing can dissuade her from her bizarre infatuation and, wearing a look of intense determination; she forages through the bubbles until she finds them, and then squeals with delight, as if she has uncovered the lost ark of the Covenant.
So on this lovely Thursday morning, I endured precisely 15 minutes of Tune in Tokyo before I finally called it quits. I left Kate and Gwen to enjoy what was to have been my warm, relaxing bubble-filled Jacuzzi tub. Within minutes, I heard Gwen yell, “Kate! Stop pinching my boobies!”
I couldn’t help but wonder how Barbara Walters handled getting felt up by her daughter.