Any of you PG-13 readers gulp a little at the thought of what I'm talking about? Ooooooh. Nipples.
During the run-up to Ethan's arrival, but while Tonya was still in the hoosegow, Emily and I went out on a reconnaissance mission to the big box behemoth of baby stuff, Baby's R' Us. (Ain't they havin' grate grammar type words to teech the youngen's??)
While browsing the crapola from China and beyond we happened upon a selection of Nipple Brushes. What? Now, I am a literal guy. And I don't spend a lot of time with my head in the gutter, and certainly not on a shopping trip with my daughter at a baby store. I also consider myself to be fairly intelligent and perhaps even an above average problem solver.
So why was it that I was standing at this display, dumbfounded, like a dog that heard a high pitched whistle?
I inspected the thing (no instructions included) and thought to myself "how freakin' dirty is this kid gonna make Tonya's nipples, that she will have to use one of THOSE honker bristles to clean them?" I bet you think I'm kidding don't you?
Well my inner voice apparently wasn't so inner because Emily started to giggle at my reaction. She then began to explain with great joy that they are for the bottles and not intended for human contact. Emily = 1, Daddy Mike = bupkis. I know communication is fragile. but couldn't they avoid some confusion by calling them bottle brushes? Jeesh.
Don't worry, Emily had her turn when less than a week later we were at the hardware store to get our fix of sniffing the fox pee when I picked up a new ball cock for one of the toilets. I let her face turn a few different shades of red before telling her what it really was.
Maybe we should start taking our dictionary's with us wherever we go?