When my daughter Sheila learned to read, I was thrilled. Each successful passing of a milestone in her reading career made me giddy. From simple word books she graduated to books with more pages and more words on the pages. Her rhythmic reading of Dr. Seuss made my heart swell with joy. She started going through books faster than televangelists go through cliches.
When she began working her way through her first chapter book, my eyes misted over. When she showed interest in things like Ramona the Brave and Ellen Tebbits - books I had loved - I decided the passing down of favorite books from one generation to another is one of the most delightful experiences humans can have.
Then one morning she said, "Mom? That doesn't say healthy adult breakfast, it says Junior Mints." Out of nowhere it hit me it can be a pain when kids can read.
She started paying attention to street signs, too, things like "No Parking Anytime," "Speed Limit 55," and "Don't Walk." Education had turned her into a 50-pound backseat driver.
Frustrating, yes, but nothing compared to the horror of what it's like navigating grocery store check-out lanes packed with magazines blaring deliberating shocking headlines in bright colors and there you are with a curious child looking to expand her vocabulary.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"What's this last word here? Woman gives birth to an...orange?"
"Orangutan. Don't pay any attention to it. They're lying. Could you hand me the apples?"
"How about this one. Twenty - let me spell the next word - t, e, c, h, n, i, q, u, e, s."
"Techniques. It means ways of doing stuff."
"Okay, then this one says: Twenty Techniques to Keep Him Coming Back for More."
"God help me. The apples, please? And isn't there a Reader's Digest over there somewhere?"
"Keep who coming back for more what?"
"You know what an aspirin bottle looks like, right?"
"Right."
"Go to aisle 9 and get me the big one. Take your time."
"But by then you'll probably be done with the groceries and I won't have time to read all the other rows."
"We can hope."
The lady in front of me, patiently waiting with all of her holiday grocery purchases for her turn to check out, indicated the December issue of Glamour magazine with a tilt of her head. "Just be glad she didn't see that one."
In bold, clear print it read: "7 Things You Should Never Do To A Man In Bed."
I silently wished every cover designer of every such magazine would have to go down a check-out lane with their son or daughter or niece or nephew and answer questions like Sheila's. I naively imagined if they did we might see magazine covers in cursive or Roman sanskrit. Or, maybe they'd make a deal with stores to display the magazines somewhere else.
The line was going nowhere. Sheila would be back way too soon. (The aspirin not soon enough.) Too soon for me to have time to successfully negotiate borrowing the large holiday tablecloth from the shopper in the next lane to drape over the magazine rack.
I turned the front Glamour magazine around, so its you-must-read-this-to-have-a-successful-relationship blurbs wouldn't show. But what if she read it on another copy around the corner?
Right then and there I decided I'd better have something to tell her if she wanted to know what those seven things were that you should never do to a man in bed.
1. Shave his legs while he's asleep.
2. Glue socks to his feet.
3. Fill his pillow with crawdads.
4. Fasten a flashlight to the ceiling above his head and wake him up, yelling "They're baaack!"
5. Place icy-cold toes in his armpit.
6. Tell him you've been looking at the bald spot on the back of his head, trying to decide whether it looks more like the silhouette of Garfield or Snoopy.
7. Say, just as he's dozing off, "The oil in the car needs changed and the doctor called to say your cholesterol is too high and aren't the taxes due?"
From here on out, or until she's 20, I'm only getting groceries while she's at school. What will I do next summer? I don't know yet. But, if you happen to drop by our place in the weeks between swimming lessons and the library program, please bring milk and bananas.
