Page 95 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
‘That’s why Uncle Stu is still single.’
Eve wrinkles her nose at me, taking her piece of toast begrudgingly, like I may have just smeared the dog’s turds across the bread. ‘Where is Uncle Stu anyway?’
I take that as a slur on my breakfast-making skills and return to my coffee. ‘Uncle Stu lets us do that’ is the common riposte that hums around the house at the minute. He gives us sweets, he doesn’t wear socks, he lets us snorkel in the bath and ride the dog. He’s slowly becoming the fun uncle who’ll be remembered in years to come whilst I’ll be the boring wench who cared more about health, safety and foot odour. The thing is we don’t know where young Stu is; he left at nine last night and never came home. Do I worry about him? In the same way I worry about Magnum the cat when he’s gone walkabout. He’ll come back when he’s hungry, though I hope he hasn’t forgotten that we both have an important meeting this morning. As far as I hate to admit it, I need Stu today.
‘He’s on a sleepover with some friends,’ I say.
‘Do you think they watched films all night and fell asleep?’ asks Eve.
‘Exactly that.’
Tess sniggers. It’s been a while since I had a morning like this with the girls. Having Stu made me lazy when it came to morning parenting and giving him the manic school runs felt like fitting punishment for recent sins. However, today makes me realise I’ve missed it and the guilt of having to balance work and home washes over me. So I sit here for a moment longer than I should. I’ve afforded myself a late start time so I can have a leisurely morning with my girls, walk them to school and do all those little things I used to do with them pre-Stu and really pre-Mintcake. I spy them lined up along the kitchen table, eating their breakfast, the morning still etched in their sleepy faces. Eve – you don’t look like me at all, eh? That’s all Danny. Tess is my clone from the dimples to the way she sucks yoghurt off her spoon. I marvel at little Polly’s mop of platinum blonde hair. You get these moments sometimes when they’re quiet and together. Where the hell did you little people come from? I can’t even recall Tess being Polly’s age, or even being pregnant three times. It’s a mixture of pride and warmth but also sheer surprise.
We’ve kept the little ones at bay with all this Mintcake stuff being flung around the house. There were certain things around that were definitely not for the consumption of little eyes and ears but at the same time, amidst all the madness and confusion, the kids helped ground me. No matter what this Captain Mintcake fiasco meant, they were our girls, the epicentre of our family. For their sake, we owed it to them to work this out and see how it fit into our lives.
I sip at my coffee and stare at Mr T out of the kitchen window. He’s now got so elderly that he can’t even raise a leg to wee and I think of Danny who often sits down on the toilet, just so he can ‘have a little rest’. On the table, I’m editing a couple of features that have been written by some of the office juniors: one where a prize-winning marrow has been described as ‘elephantine’ and a multi-storey car park as ‘incongruous’. The office thesaurus wins again.
‘Do you like writing?’ asks Tess, watching my red pen scrawled across the print.
‘I do. I think I’m good at it. I’m good at spelling. I’m not good at much else.’
Eve is surprised to hear this self-deprecating attitude. ‘You’re good at hair.’ I laugh. Tess gives her a look knowing that my self-esteem is at stake here. They look a bit perplexed trying to come up with other things I’m good at. ‘You also make good sandwiches?’ she tries to redeem herself. Polly puts a handful of Weetos in her face and gurgles in what I hope is agreement.
‘You are good at having babies,’ suggests Tess.
Eve nods enthusiastically. ‘Daddy said when they had to cut you a new minnie on your tummy that you were very brave.’
Tess and I pause for a moment. ‘What was that, love?’
‘Daddy said you had to squeeze me out the sunroof, not the boot.’
‘They cut me open. I only have one minnie.’
‘A person can’t have two minnies, can they Mummy?’ asks Tess.
I want to say no but I have no doubt that can exist in nature. I once saw a picture of a man with two johnsons. Maybe it’s just best to clarify that I don’t have a vag on my stomach. Geez, is that what she thought my belly button was, an extra vagina? How misshapenismy belly button now?
‘I’m not sure how we started talking about minnies?’
‘Daddy was telling us the other day that we have three holes: one for wee, one for babies and the other for poo. So are they all minnie holes?’ asks Eve.
‘No.’ That much I know. Very like Danny to talk about things so plainly as a plumber would but a bit of elaboration is still needed. They stare at me inquisitively. Who was that person at their school who wanted to deny them sex education? This is what happens when we do. They piece things together and come up with absurdity. But I see innocence here, a simple need to understand the physical workings of the matter. Honesty feels like the best route.
‘Well, Daddy has a poo hole and that is definitely not a minnie.’ You see a little light appear in the irises of Eve’s eyes for that realisation to dawn on her. At least we have that much sorted.
Tess interjects, ‘But you can have a minnie and a willie. Rhys Griffin told me that. They have a special name.’
‘You can call them intersex people, I think.’ I make a note to consult Wikipedia later knowing my knowledge about the subject is pretty sparse. Eve’s mind is blown. ‘Biology works in different ways, sometimes,’ I say, taking on an Attenborough style lilt in my voice.
‘Rhys said a different word, he said… freak.’ Tess mutters it quietly, letting me know it’s the wrong thing to say.
‘Well, Rhys is wrong; that’s cruel and not very nice to say.’
‘I told him that.’ I smile, knowing that’s typical Tess. ‘And he said things like he-she and ladyboys and I told him there’s nothing wrong with that at all.’ Eve furrows her brow to take it in. ‘As long as people are good and they are happy in their own skin then that’s what’s important.’
Hold the doors. There’s a little someone right here who could give those sex education classes though I’m debating to what extent she knows how everything operates. ‘Who taught you all of this?’ I try to think when I last relayed such information to our eldest. There’s a strong sense of empathy and understanding here that I for one have not imparted on her. I think.
‘Aunty Lucy told me she once had a girlfriend. And Uncle Stu showed me pictures of Pride when he lived in Sydney, and he has friends who are very gay.’
