In how to make your 20yo son extremely uncomfortable. Bordering on squirming even. Yes. If I were a better person, mayhaps more mature, I would not be taking such immense delight in having accomplished this feat. But I did. It goes something like this. I have a rather remarkable talent in which I can say pretty much anything, no matter how innocuous or benign, and make it sound, well, naughty. Inappropriate. Sexual. Dirty. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more. This morning I told Reid about a story related last night amongst the girls about a chair tipping over incident. Which evolved into stories about a specific chair of considerable size and how it was apparently actually worn by a well-made young man. Are you still with me? Good. Then, after viewing a photo of said young man, who is most definitely buff as well as gorgeous with just a smattering of brooding thrown in for good measure, I remarked: Oh. Noah. Baby. Wear that chair for me. To make this even more perverse, two of the women at the table were Noah's mother and sister. Who were, by the way, laughing uproariously. Reid was a curious combination of horrified yet amused. He asked, can I go now? In this lies an interesting conundrum. Where most of us are at least mildly uneasy with the notion of our parents as sexual beings. Which, ironically, is how we all got here in the first place.