Last weekend, I found myself forced to explain the concept of nude beaches to my children.
This afternoon, I was charged with the task of explaining to the same audience why a grown man of seemingly normal intelligence would pull down his pants in the middle of Costco and have a bowel movement.
Needless to say, I struggled to find the right words.
We happened upon the crime scene--the book section--immediately after the event took place. I learned later, in the checkout line, that the suspect had been caught and apprehended in the parking lot. This information made me feel better, but provided little consolation to the crew charged with the task of cleaning up the mess.
"What happened over there?" asked my son, straining to see what was causing all the commotion.
"I don't really know," I said vaguely. "I think someone just had a little accident," I said.
The man standing next to us in line was kind enough to clarify.
"I don't want to talk about it anymore," I told my kids as I loaded the groceries into the car.
They had a hard time understanding why I would deem such a fascinating topic of conversation off limits.
To their credit, they didn't talk about the incident on the drive home. Weirdly, despite the 90 degree heat, they all insisted on waiting at the end of the driveway for my husband to come home from work.
The minute that my husband's car pulled into the parking lot, they attacked.
"DAD! DAD! DAD!" they screamed, motioning for my husband to roll down his windows. My husband stopped the car and complied.
"Thanks for greeting me!" he smiled, clearly pleased that his kids were so excited to see him.
"Guess what?" they said, ignoring him. "We saw something super disgusting today."
I watched the exchange from the front stoop.
"I don't really want to hear about yucky things," my husband told them. "Tell me something nice."
Regardless of what my husband said, the result would have been the same.
They all clamored at once to tell him the gory details.
The line between disgusting and delightful only becomes visible in adulthood, and even then, remains fuzzy for some.
After listening to the kids' story, my husband covered his mouth in feigned horror.