Boys are still gross, thank goodness

Going into the file of things I never expected to be asked by my daughter….

Allie: What’s a hickey?
Me: What? (almost driving off the road, I think I may have killed a butterfly)
Allie: In Boo’s movie, the guy says a Hickey from Kinicki. What’s a hickey?
Me (stall, stall, stall finally tell the truth): Well, you know those bruises on Rizzo’s neck? Um, well they are from Kinicki kissing her.
Allie: Another reason I am never dating boys.

One last thing on this beautiful Wednesday. I have taken the plunge and am auditioning for Blogger Idol 2013. Expect a lot of groveling for votes! The perk of auditioning is that not only will my blog receive a lot of exposure, but I will receive creative and constructive criticism from the judges. So be sure to vote and vote often!

10 thoughts on “Boys are still gross, thank goodness

  1. Kristi Campbell

    Good for you for answering honestly. I still remember the time I was driving with my dad. I think I was in 3rd grade. I asked him what a blow job was. And then proceeded to question a BUNCH. Amazing he didn't crash the car. Poor dad.


  2. Considerer

    Ohhh well done you. Nicely handled.

    I once asked what a dildo was, when I was 11. Over Sunday dinner.

    I think I remember my Dad turning purple, and probably not speaking to me for the rest of the day. If I was lucky.


  3. Christine

    Ha! I often think, “It will go right over their heads”. And then it never goes far enough over. Good way to handle the situation.

    I was thinking about auditioning, too! Instead, I shall simply vote for you. 🙂


  4. Julie Sparks

    Ha ha! Way to keep it simple and honest. Thank goodness boys are yucky! Hormones are waaaaaaay too rampant in the younger generation!

    I had also thought about doing the Blogger Idol but like Christine, I think I will just vote for you.


  5. K

    HAHA 🙂 I love this girl! When I was eleven, I was doing some research on diabetes for a health class project and I asked my dad what an erection was…LOL.



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