Here’s the conversation that just happened in the car with my five-year-old daughter. I like to think of it as one of those diversity education conversations.
We were going through the drive-thru at McDonalds (don’t judge, people, it buys me at least 30 minutes of peace in my house) and the cashier said to the girl working next to her that she was going to take off her long sleeve shirt that she had underneath her uniform after she rang us up.
As we pull away, my daughter whispers, “Mommy, I hope she went into the bathroom to take her shirt off.”
Me: “Yes, sweetie, I bet she does. Why are you whispering, though?”
Her: “I didn’t want her to hear me talking about her boobies.”
Me: “Oh, right. Wait. You weren’t talking about her boobies.”
Her: “I was thinking about them.”
Me: “What were you thinking about them?” (my curiosity was now at it’s highest peak)
Her: “Well. Uhm. What do you think black boobies look like?”
Me: (trying desperately not to laugh) “Well, sweetie, they are black.”
Her: “Even the pimple?”
Me: (now having a terrible time trying not to laugh) “I think you mean nipple?”
Her: “Yeah, the nipple. Is that black too?”
Me: “Yep. Just like ours are all white.”
Her: (looking disappointed) “Oh.”
Me: “Why? What color did you think the nipple would be?”
Her: “Purple.”
