The kids were in their pajamas when they met me at baggage claim last Sunday.
The coy and devilish Rooster repeatedly pulled her pajama shorts up to flash her butt cheeks at me.
She thought this was hilarious.
I felt surreal saying,
“We don’t show our naked bottom to people at the airport.”
Besides it being obvious, it made me feel like a caricature.
[I am a cartoon mom!]
It also seemed like WAY too literal a thing to say.
I half expected The Mayor to challenge me...
“Can we show our naked butts at the grocery store? How about at the post office?”
I felt slightly guilty suggesting she keep her but in her pants.
I mean, she does come by the urge naturally.
I seem to hang my ass out (at least figuratively) (and sometimes literally, though clothed) all the time.
I can hardly point a finger at Rooster when I'm the one convincing online friends to accompany me to a condemned women's bathhouse to get all naked.
[Oh, hai! I met you on the Internet, want to get naked?!]
There is, however, a line I have to draw.
The Rooster is forever pulling up her shirt and showing off her chest.
I'm telling you right now that girl is NEVER going to New Orleans.