Today I braved the fitting room to find a new swimsuit.
In a the extra-large family-sized stall within earshot of the male attendant (age 50), I had a captive audience of two small boys, age 2 and 4.
The four-year-old was busy making faces at himself in the mirror. The two-year-old...he decided to become a play-by-play announcer, as if this swimsuit trying on business was now an athletic event.
While I tried to get the first top on, he announced to the entire world, "Mom, you got boobies!"
I tried to shush him, knowing full well the middle-aged man who was sitting within ten feet heard every word. Why didn't I bring some candy along to distract him? "Mom, I see you boobies!" Not working so well to shush him.
After putting my hands over his mouth, I managed to try on a couple more tops. I had a one-piece suit left to try on, and should have just left it on the hanger (since it didn't fit anyway). I removed my jeans and future Bob Costas declared, "Mom, you naked!"
At least he didn't mention the size of my derriere.
I didn't buy a single suit.
Did the man hear my loud-mouthed son? Well, he gave both boys a sticker when we dropped off our little number tag. You tell me.
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