Trashy taffy

Ginnie was hopping mad this morning. She’d visited Facebook and a friend posted a picture of their kid with an sexualized t-shirt. Grrr, who’d do this? What would it be like if you flipped the genders?

My argument: it’s all culture. It blinds you and binds you. We’re frogs simmering in our subcultures. I didn’t think the parents were even thinking about the message of that shirt.

To her: “This isn’t crazy at all. Have you ever visited /r/trashy? But I don’t have to tell you about that.”

An awkward silence stretched out like taffy.

I wish I had a snappy comeback, but like the taffy I just slumped there.

Later on, we’re driving back to Virginia to see friends. Ginnie’s telling stories. Like that time her dad (an eager dumpster diver) had discovered a bag of clothes on the side of the highway. Just sitting there! He brought them home to us. I never wore them but Ginnie was enamored with one of the pair of pants she found. They were the most comfortable things when she was pregnant with Monkey.

Sometimes you just have to wait for that taffy to snap back.