Lunch with a pre-teen

Had an interesting lunch with Hannah last week, right after she had her braces put on (she’s adorable with them, just the picture of a perfect American pre-teen). We were sitting in a bagel shop and having a leisurely lunch together. She’s been curious lately about the lives of her parents Before Hannah, and had been asking about girlfriends who were not her mom, whether a friend of ours had been my girlfriend, that sort of thing. Somehow we got onto the topic of boys and shesaid that boys like girls with big breasts. I had to say that while a lot of boys did, lots of boys liked girls with small breasts, and that
in any event the important thing was to figure out whether a boy liked her for who she was rather than for what she looked like.

While all this was going on, a woman appeared in the line at the counter — buxom, stunning and well-aware of it. Difficult to ignore. Worse, she was the kind who needed to know that people were looking at her, so she was
doing a little dance in line, looking all around the shop, playing with her sunglasses, spinning around so she could be seen from all sides, and casting flirtatious glances at anyone who was looking her way. And of course I couldn’t take my eyes off her. (Being an old man, I’ll take my flirtatious glances wherever I can get them.) So there I was, trying to explain to my daughter, almost certain to be blessed with her mother’s svelte, model’s build, that she needs to understand that
sometimes boys will be attracted to her body more than her mind, while I’m being completely distracted by a meaningless flirtation from a stranger with, as Mudhead put it, a balcony you could do Shakespeare from. (This is one of the downsides of being male — the two brains feel no need to coordinate their desires.)

I think it’s interesting, though, that Hannah felt free to talk with me about that, and wonder how much longer before she becomes convinced her parents have nothing to bring to the table on these topics. My parents never ever discussed such things with me–I’m still waiting for my mother to have the sex talk with me.