The (Dreaded) F-Word

"Flossing."

What does it always have to be flossing? First the kegels. Now this. The endless Middle Age Maintenance. When does it end? The grave?

It's been painful to chew on my left side for ages now. I already had one filling replaced, but the problem didn't go away. Last night my tooth felt . . . sensitive. At lunch, too. Honestly, I always thought people who complained about sensitive teeth were wimps.

At my medical center across the street they scheduled me with a new guy. French and oh, so fragrant. I love having my head tucked into a B.O. armpit. Almost as much as I like hearing, "I'm going to give you some anesthesia here so I can clean under the gums." Indeed, I didn't feel a thing. I also can't breathe on the left side of my nose right now.

Continuing in the F-word vein, Baboo has been having sex education at school these days. They are supposed to understand how the opposite sex is set up and "human reproduction." So it has been a hot topic Chez Beet.

They both understand conception, but what about contraception? I tried the Woody Allen line about oral contraception ("I want to tell you a terrific story about oral contraception. I asked this girl to sleep with me, and she said 'No.' ").

C'mon. It's funny.

They just blinked at me in a "Oh, Mo-ther!" way. Maybe they don't see the humor. Or maybe they think teaching abstinence is futile.

The topic came up again at lunch today.

"We do it, you know," I pointed out.

"Yeah, well, we wish you wouldn't," came the reply.

Huh?

The moaning. The groaning. It's off-putting. We don't need anymore children, do we? They think we should just wait. Until they've moved out.

I'm of two minds about this. On the one hand, they should be glad their parents have more than "hallway sex" (where we say "fuck you" when we pass each other in the hall). On the other hand, if they find the idea horrific, maybe it will delay their interest in doing it themselves. I want them to have healthy attitudes about sex. The woman in me thinks sex a very good thing. But the parent in me reacts on a visceral level to my children being sexual beings just yet. Ask me again when they are young women, I suppose.

I've given up on what we used to euphemistically refer to as "naps." There was a time and a floor plan that enabled us to put them in front of a movie on a weekend afternoon and scamper upstairs for an uninterrupted hour. In this apartment, however, our bedroom is across the hall from the living room. Without us ever discussing it, "naps" have become real naps in Moscow.

Now that we had The Talk at lunch, I'm going to feel self-conscious even at night with all appropriate bedroom doors closed.

I guess after my cold shower I can always floss, right?