Bathroom Talk

The last couple of days, it's been blistering hot here in SoCal. i'm talking triple digits coastal; yesterday, my car registered 102 degrees at 330pm, today, it was 92. Luckily, we have access to pools, so after giving up at the playground (it's covered in shade giving circus like tent tops, but even in the shade, our little ones were turning pink from over-heating) we headed to our community pool. I had bathing suits and towels packed since I figured after karate and park, we'd end up in those clear blue highly chlorinated community waters, so Alex and I get to the clubhouse and change in the main bathroom, instead of the perpetually damp icky bathroom that smells like bleach right next to the pools.

The bathrooms is very clean, smells like citrus air freshener, has a nice Tuscan design, and I warn Alex not to touch anything, not even the walls because I'm still petrified of the semi-public restroom, but have over the years improved my relationship with such facility due to necessity (motherhood, it'll do it... little kids have to poop at the most inconvenient locations...)

So I'm changing. Top and bra off, bikini top strapped on. Alex picks up my bra out of my bag. He's giggling, he knows that it's a little naughtier than a t-shirt... I'm looking at him, waiting to hear what gem comes out of his mouth.

"Is that a pirate booby trap?"

Yes.

"it's like Panda and Master Shifu at dinner."

Yes.

If you've seen the movie, you get why he was trying to put it on.

I guess from now on, I wear a pirate booby trap.