When I was in second grade, a boy on the bus said I had “sexy legs.” I had never heard the term so when I arrived home, I asked my mother what it meant.
I honestly don’t know what she said in response, but a few days later we found ourselves at the local park. My mother had decided that with the “sexy legs” comment, I should better understand sex. My mother went through the biological description, using the scientific terms and explaining the reason for sex.
At no point did she mention that it was also done for pleasure and until I was in high school, I genuinely thought my parents had had sex twice: once for me and once for my brother.
Trawling through the lingerie department of a big store with my nine-year-old daughter while we were on holidays, we exclaimed over the prettiness of the latest style of knickers which seemed to be like a brief knickerbocker made in pink satin – the sort of puffy pants you’d put on a doll to be honest – very 1950’s. Then we clucked over the wonderful colours and lovely patterns and cleverness of people who design such things. As we go to leave she gets pensive – “You know Mum I don’t get why everyone makes a big fuss about fancy pants when no-one gets to see them.”
Inwardly my head fills the speech bubble – “Ah grasshopper, one day you’ll understand the allure, the pleasure, the fun in a scrap of lace and satin” – outwardly I say “Well you know, sometimes it can make a person feel good to know they are wearing something lovely just for themselves even if no one much else will see it” – she seems to get that and we move on.
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