Sh*t My Kids Say

“Look, it’s my vulva! said Roomba as she looked squarely at her sister. “Want to touch it?

I think I screamed. If not, I did in my head. My sex-positive chicks had come home to roost. I just wasn’t expecting it in that particular way. Twincest! I couldn’t get the term out of my head (yeah, thanks a bunch, Jiz and Syd).

“Y’all are two, that screaming voice in my head said. “You’re not supposed to be falling into stereotypical straight porn tropes until you hit puberty!

My mind raced for a response, but the gears kept getting stuck on DVD covers featuring my surgically enhanced daughters as “New Cummers with the inappropriate title of “Sister Act!

My incest taboo gene had kicked in, and it took out some of my teeth with its steel-toed boots.

In a brief moment of clarity I cried out “Mom! Like a teenager trying to ask permission to use the car after dad said “no.

My partner walked in.

“Roomba wants Scooba to touch her, down there. I can’t handle this one. I’m out.

I left the room, and took several deep cleansing breaths.

My partner, in her infinite wisdom, calmly explained to them that they shouldn’t touch each other’s vulva, but are free to touch their own. She even let them use the hand mirror to look at their own genitals.

Deep. Cleansing. Breath.

My partner’s a keeper.

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