Sex Education Parisian Style

The kids were missing. I could hear them laughing in my dreams. I sat up in bed, panicked, realizing they'd benefited from my jet lag and had escaped from their beds somehow. I was disoriented and it took me a second to recognize my right bank hotel room and to recognize that their voices hadn't come from my dreams but from the bathroom. Both at the same time. Not good. Another kind of panic set in. That could be just as bad as my imagined kid-escape.
Groggy, I bumped into a few walls as I made my way to them. I rubbed my eyes.
"What are you guys doing in here?" I asked.
"Mommy, Look, there's a special bathtub for my dolls in here."
It took a second for the object of their fascination to register. "Honey, that's not a doll tub. That's a bidet." I rubbed my eyes. If I wasn't so tired I'd laugh. "We don't put our dolls in there."
"Why not?"
I just wanted to go back to sleep. "It's not for washing your dolls. It's for washing your butt."
I'd said the "b" word. The bathroom filled with giggles and "show me, show me."
Later in the day, this could be comical, but not now. My body didn't know what time it was. The sun was shining but if felt like one in the morning. "Just don't touch it. Let's get dressed. It's not for kids anyway."
They agreed. Hopefully that was one treaty that would last through the end of the week.
Paris through the eyes of my kids was certainly not going to be like I remembered.
We had a tour of the Louvre scheduled. The barricades outside were new. The whole world had been touched by 911.We entered from the parking garage, through what had been the moat when the Louvre had been the palace. The older one ignored the guide, her lips locked by bashfulness. The younger one jumped all over the place. Had I given her sugar for breakfast?. She asked all the questions her sister couldn't. Could she take her own pictures? Could she touch? Her eyes grew rounder with every step. "Mommy where are the noses?" I contemplated the right answer. Was I supposed to say they'd fallen off over time? Or tell her the conspiracy theory version? That they looked African so they conquerors knocked them off? She lost interest in noses right then so I was saved. She covered her mouth and squealed with laughter. These statues were naked. "Mommy, Look!" We stopped in our tracks as she pointed. "There special parts are showing. You said we shouldn't show those to anybody!' The nose question was no longer a dilemma as she snapped away with her disposable camera and I turned as red as I could. I let our stone-faced guide field the questions from then on.
The Mona Lisa. "Why isn't she smiling?"
"She didn't brush and her teeth are ugly."
The Venus Di Milo. "Mommy, where are her arms and why are her boobies so small?
I felt confident again, so I answered. "This is really a representation of all woman kind, sweetie. See, her top is a young woman, her body, a woman ready to have kids, and he back, that's a strong working woman. They blinked at me. "oh." Too much information.
After a few more rooms, even my eyes glazed over.
The guide, in her characteristically French way, continued to push them to the front of every exhibit. The little one was full of energy, noticing even the tiniest details. "The floors are wood here not marble."
"That's right honey."
"Mommy, Jesus is the only one in that painting that has ears."
"That's right honey."
"That man in the picture has an ouchie on his side."
"That's right honey."
Finally, they just wanted to go outside and take a picture of the pyramid.
I perked up. Like The DaVinci Code.
It'd been a rough half day.
I waited for them to fall asleep and I hit the Champs Elysee alone. Louis Vuitton was right across the street.
My kind of culture.
A couture Museum.


Anonymous said…
'so dark the con of man..."

'so enlightening the words of our children..."

well at least they get so soak up some culture, you get to show off your jeapardy trivia skills, and at the end of the day the LVMH stock the price will likely see a little bump based off your spending the the luxe motherland.

Funny girl. Bidets have left many a girl--young and old--singing OHH LA LA! Enjoy, ma cherie!

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