On May 1, I received an email that the audio version of Don’t Lick the Minivan had gone on sale. As I took my first bite of an English muffin smeared with peanut butter, I pressed play.
I immediately started to laugh, mostly at the oddity of hearing a professional read my words with perfect enunciation. My husband chuckled too. Vivian asked why we were laughing. I explained. She listened to the book’s opening. She’s been dying to read Don’t Lick the Minivan but I won’t let her; I figure there are better ways to discover that Santa Claus isn’t real than by reading your mom’s funny-ish memoir.
William wandered over, hoping I was watching a nature video of some sort. As he approached my laptop, the reader was finishing the book’s preamble, which includes the story behind the original title, Get That Train off Your P*nis.
Following this phrase, she read: “And that was the moment. The moment when I realized there may be a lot of crap that comes out of your kids’ butts, but when you’re a parent, almost as much comes out of your mouth.”
William looked at me in horror and—with perfect enunciation—said, “That. Woman. Is. Sick.”
I choked on peanut butter. “That woman,” I said, “is your mom.”
“Yeah, Will,” Viv explained. “That woman is reading mom’s book aloud. So it’s really mom saying that.”
Will walked away, no doubt counting down the days until he gets access to his therapy fund.
What bizarre incidents in your childhood could have sent you (or your parents) to their therapy fund?
In other news, there’s a contest up on GoodReads where you can win an autographed hardcopy of Don’t Lick the Minivan with a single click. Check it out.