The most embarrassing part of this post is going to be admitting that I have Air on my ipod. You know “Alpha Beta Gaga?” That Air. Most of it is inarticulate, furrin croonin,’ and I had it out on the sound dock the other day. And then "Sexy Boy" comes on. Li’l A needs another chat with me about what “sexy” means. Mostly I think because it’s an excuse to say the word ;). So I do some explaining.
And then he’s all: Promise me one thing. Promise me JUST one thing!
I have no idea what’s happening. Not a clue. But his big eyes are full of earnest intensity, so I promise.
Promise me you’ll never call anyone but dad sexy boy. Promise me.
I laughed until my stomach cramped. And then I laughed about it some more when Big A got home. And the next day, in the car, my hands free because Big A was driving, I pointed out anyone remotely attractive to Li’l A: Sexy Boy, Sexy Boy, Sexy Boy, Sexy Boy.
It’s not like it’s a bad thing.
That picture of yourself in academic drag you took when people were consistently mistaking you for an undergraduate (because genes, but a...