I Can’t Make That Penis Go Away

So I’m lying there on a blanket on the grass, soaking up as much skin-cell rotting sunshine as I could, and having one of those awesome moments with my almost-teenaged daughter. It was the kind of moment that advertising executives forever ruined, because all I could think was, “Any minute now my daughter is going to sit up and ask me what to do if she doesn’t feel so fresh.”

Even though she’s too cool for everything at this age, my daughter was more than willing to play “What Does That Cloud Look Like?” We had some giggles, and I have to admit that some of her clouds actually looked like the thing she said they did. Go you.

Until the wind shifted. Leaves were blown around and we squinted our eyes to keep the dust out. When the gust was over, there was a problem with our clouds. There was a giant penis-shaped cloud that had plopped itself right over our blanket. Apparently, it was Jewish. And a porn star.

I didn’t have my camera with me to take a picture of it, so I hired a sketch artist to illustrate what happened. The artist sucked a little bit.


ME: Yeah…

DAUGHTER: This game is dumb.

ME: No, it’s not. It’s still fun. It’s just been photobombed by something inappropriate.

DAUGHTER: We can’t just stay here looking at it! People are gonna think we’re weirdos!

ME: We’re lying on the ground behind the Walmart and the penis cloud is what makes us weirdos?

DAUGHTER: Aack! Don’t say that word!

ME: What word? Walmart?

DAUGHTER: NO! (the p-word)

ME: Penis?


ME: penispenispenispenispenispenispe…


ME: Fine. WalmartWalmartWalmartWalmart…

DAUGHTER: Mo-ummm! (two syllables. I’m in trouble.) Can’t you do something about that perverted cloud?

ME: Um…like what?

DAUGHTER: I don’t know! Make it go away!

ME: Wow. That’s really flattering, but I don’t control the weather. Just close your eyes until the wind shifts.

DAUGHTER: NO! Then people will look at me and think I’m asleep and this cloud is the thought balloon over my head and I’m dreaming about that thing!

I was seriously proud of her for being afraid that her dreams actually appear outside her head as a thought balloon while she’s asleep. It means she thinks cartoons are real. And if she’s that young, I probably shouldn’t let her sunbathe under a giant penis. We packed it up and headed to the car, but not before I could ask, “Don’t those clouds over there look like two giant boobs?”