Sister recently visited Lovely Daughter and her new digs, a small 4th floor walk-up in NYC shared with two roomies. One roomie is Gay Boyfriend, her best bud from grad school.
GB is a lovely young man and an x-tremely talented actor; 6-foot-something, dark curly hair, broad shoulders... you get the drill. He's that guy that when he opens his mouth, women sigh and think What a waste....
As the story goes, Sister and Lovely Daughter are surveying the mountains of boxes and crap from the moving ins-and-outs of roomies old and new. GB bursts through the door, cross and sweaty from the four-flight hike.
He sighs, pulls the fruits of his shopping trip from the LNS* bag, tosses the bag over his shoulder, and squeals "Look at my new BEDskirt!" He then rips his booty from the package and wraps himself in it, twirling with the delight and abandon of a toddler in a tutu.
Sister relayed that tale when she visited us the following weekend. I was tickled pink! Of course we immediately took to squealing BEDskirt! (with jazz hands) at random intervals for the rest of the weekend.
That's 'we', as in 'including Young Son'.
So here's the thing: I'm aglow with maternal pride, seeing that his sense of humor is developed enough to know that it's funny, even though he doesn't quite fully get why it's funny.
OTOH, as open-minded as I am, there is something unsettling about an 8 yo boy squealing BEDskirt! (with jazz hands).
I did caution him that this is one of those jokes he probably doesn't want to share at school**.
* Linens 'n' Shit. What, you don't have those by you?
** It's not the first time I've done that. And it won't be the last.