The other day, Mark was being silly before he got in the shower. He tugged at his boxers until they were riding kinda low.
"Look, Mom!" he said, laughing. "I'm a teenager!"
"Pull up your pants!" I teased him. "Nobody wants to see your bum!"
He laughed, and then said simply, "Cleavage."
I bit my tongue and refused to make eye contact. I knew if I looked at him, I'd start busting up, and would miss my teachable moment (in this instance, teaching good manners!).
"Do you know what 'cleavage' means?" I asked.
"Yes, it's a split down a rock," he answered. "We learned that in science."
So maybe I didn't have to worry. Maybe he was just assigning scientific names to body parts...
"Oh," I said. And then I walked right into it, and asked, "So why'd you say 'cleavage' then?"
He turned and wiggled his exposed bum at me.
"Cleavage!" he repeated, and ran laughing toward the bathroom.
It didn't take a scientist to realize he was not being so scholarly after all.
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