Aiden has gone all Michael Jackson on me. He has this lovey new thing of shoving his hand down his pants and fondling his crotch. Continually. Constantly. Consistently. Doesn't matter when, he can do it any time of time. Not just in the mornings if you know what I mean. No, it isn't just a morning woody that is literally and figuratively up. He will do it before breakfast before I shriek for him to go wash his hands immediately. While getting dressed I suppose it is understandable and quite possibly necessary to do it when the task of putting on underwear is at hand. He does it in the village park between getting on the swing and going down the slide. Always at bedtime, right smack in the middle of Elephant & Piggie. Public spaces don't faze him either. A snaking line of movie goers at the cinema ticket booth line or an elevator full of people or a the entire Megamall on a payday mega sale will not stop him when the urge is at hand.
Why? Why? Why?
He needs to adjust his penis he says. Well how can I argue with that? This is one of those few times that I can honestly say I don't have the balls (or more precisely the penis) to give him sage advice or wise tips. I consulted a few men who instead of cringing gave me a smirk the equivalent of fist pump in the air and an elaborate and complicated manly handshake some dumb fraternity would create. You know one of those involving too much gratuitous hand holding and a random chest bump.
While the men were of no help, the women on the other hand were a greater support as they always are. I have a few friends with sons in their early teenage years who are are also going through the same thing. They are however dealing with crotch fondling issues of a more serious and eminent kind. Their stories involving extended bathroom use, triple x rated Googling and wads upon wads of tissue paper are beyond hilarious. They sound like scenes stolen from American Pie and Fast Times At Ridgemont High. So what else can I do but feel relieved in greater misery of others. For the meantime.