I Do NOT Want My Nipples There, Please

Oh - the sunglasses on my boobs?  Yeah - I can explain...  #funny  #kids #parenting #games #questions #crockpot #humor

So then…I’m standing there, minding my own business, slaving over an impressive gourmet dinner (aka checking the crockpot) – when my tween daughter Chloe enters and asks, “Would you rather have eyes for nipples – or nipples for eyes?”

Silence.

I look up from the crockpot, spoon in hand – furrow on brow.

“What?”

She sighs impatiently as if this is a matter of great urgency.

“MOM! Would you rather have EYES FOR NIPPLES – or NIPPLES FOR EYES?”

Omigod. Is this a decision I have to make right now? Is this a real thing?

My eyes dart around the kitchen. What does she know that I don’t know?

Is some grand master wizard — or satanic demon — or demented plastic surgeon about to burst in here and make me CHOOSE?

And really — what a dreadful choice!

How could people look me in the face if my nipples are where my eyes should be? I’d have to wear a face bra!

And if my nipples were eyes? Well, based on my low-hangin’ swingin’ bosoms, my eyes would be somewhere around belt-level. That would really limit my vision.

And how awkward when I’m talking to people. It would flip that whole “Hey buddy, my eyes are up here” upside down. “Yo dude, my eyes are DOWN here.”

And I wouldn’t be able to SEE anything if my tatas were covered, so I’d have to go topless everywhere – totally creeping everyone out with my eyeball on each boobie.

And I wear GLASSES to drive, for God’s sake! How will I strap the glasses to my boob eyes? I won’t even be able to see out the windshield anyway — since my boob eyes will be resting in my lap!

Really this whole switch thing is stressing me out.

“MOM! Answer the question!” she says.

“Why, Chloe? Why must I decide? Those are both appalling options!” I say.

“It’s a game!” she says. “It’s called Wouldja Rather. My friends and I play it all the time. Like ‘Wouldja rather have 3 toes on each foot and have to wear sandals everyday – or wouldja rather have only one giant nostril?”

I make the I-just-smelled-bad-cheese face.

“Or,” she continues, “a famous You-Tuber likes to ask ‘Wouldja rather change genders each time you sneeze – or not be able to tell the difference between a baby and a muffin?’”

OK, first of all – there are famous You-Tubers?

Second of all, changing genders each time I sneeze could get real awkward real fast.

What if I’m breastfeeding at the time? Or competing in a Miss America pageant? (Stop laughing. I could so compete in a Miss America pageant.)

And with my allergic multiple sneeze attacks — God forbid my sexual partner brings flowers into the boudoir – he-ey! It’s about to get ALL crazy up in here! I’m a chick! I’m a dude! I’m a chick again! Nope, a dude! Hell-o!

Third of all, who comes UP with such a bizarre notion that someone couldn’t tell the difference between a baby and a muffin? And I DO love me some muffins. If that’s the case, though — I tell you what, if someone sprinkles blueberries on that kid, he’s a goner.

“Chloe,” I say, “These choices are—”

“Oh!” she says, “Or how about THIS one? Wouldja rather slide into an erupting volcano — or jump blindfolded into a tank of sharks?’”

I put the spoon down and fold my arms. “Neither! Neither, Chloe! I do not want to do ANY of those things! I am anxious just THINKING about those things!”

She laughs and says, “Mom! It’s just a game! It’s fun to see what people choose and the reasons why. My friends and I debate the pros and cons. It’s fun!”

Honestly, what is wrong with these kids? Why can’t they just hot-wire cars and knock over liquor stores like normal teens?

“Chloe, why are all these choices so dire?”  I put on a cheerful voice and ask:  “Why not ‘Wouldja rather win a brand new beach house – or find a million dollars in your sweater pocket?’”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh Mom!” She picks up her books and goes into the living room.

I follow her, waving my spoon. “Or how about ‘Wouldja rather vacation in Paris — or Rome?’”

“Mo-om! You don’t get it!”

“Or ‘Wouldja rather dance with George Clooney — or bake cookies with Ryan Gosling?’”

She huffs, but starts grinning. “Stop, Mom! Just stop.”

I return to the crockpot, glad I’ve made my point.

But tonight, I’m CERTAIN I’ll have nightmares of sharks chasing me into volcanoes, while I hyperventilate through my one nostril — with my eyeball-boobies flapping in all directions!

— Darcy Perdu

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(OK, what choices would YOU make in the above “Wouldja Rather” options? And do your kids play this wackadoodle game?)