Hindsight Can Be the Pitt(s)

My friend Cray was feeling guilty recently about getting rid of some furniture her mother had passed on to her and wanted to know how I  handled such  problems.    Rule No. 1:  Try to foist it off on your children to prevent any later blowback.   Like this:   

Oh, Offspring O’ Mine. . . remember your great -grandmother’s  wardrobe, that behemoth heavy enough to crack black walnuts if it toppled on them?    First one to show up with a U-Haul gets it.

Let me tell you a story. . . .

Today I read an article in the New York Times about an  e-mail fad where people write 25 Random Things about themselves.  My friend Jincey sent hers  to me recently.   Some of her revelations were unknown, a couple were surprising, and some I might have guessed anyway.

List 25 things about myself that might interest  even my closest friends?  Can’t do it.    I could do 25 Things You Won’t Give A Rip To Know About Me, but  why bother?   I can, however, give you one:

I have seen Brad Pitt’s pecker. 

Oh, I don’t mean live and in person from the angle that Angelina Jolie has seen it (I probably don’t need to clarify that now that I think about it, do I? ) or even like his mother has seen it.   I did not diaper his dimpled bottom.  I mean that  I have seen photographs of it. 

Remember years ago when he was dating Gwyneth Paltrow and a paparazzi  took pictures of them with a telescopic lens and sold them to one of the rag magazines?  Don’t feel bad; I didn’t pay much attention myself.   My mother, however, did.  The magazine published the photos but Pitt took them to court, won his case,  and the publisher was  forced to pay a fine and re-call all the magazines.

Except, at least, for the two on my mother’s coffee table.  

For my granddaughters,  she said.

Said granddaughters  (who as I mentioned on a previous blog  did not especially like to talk sex with their grandmother, even though she delighted in the subject)  demurred and would not even touch the magazines.  

“YOU take them,”  they told me.

A couple of years later I was cleaning,  getting rid of stuff in preparation for yet another move  and came upon them on my closet shelf.  Except for possibly. . . no, definitely. . . being eyed  by my mother,  they had never been opened.  I remedied that.

Not one to peek and tell, I  will say only that the boy had nothing to be ashamed of.  Gwyneth was a little puny thing , but Brad. . . ?   He looked like such a happy fella.    She has since bared her skinny little body  in films but I don’t know whether Brad has chosen to dangle his dillywagger publicly or not. 

Okay, here is where the story takes a disastrous turn.  Right along with the pairs of too-picked pantyhose and the shoes that gave me blisters, I tossed them.    Yep, somewhere in a landfill. . . !

 At the time I felt downright noble.  After all, I was not only saving this young man from exploitation, but possibly sparing my daughters the embarrassment of being arrested for trying to hawk illegal materials.    A motherly gesture on my part, I thought.

“Well, there goes my sons’  college education fund, ” my daughter snapped when I confessed.

In hindsight, I do feel bad about tossing them.  After all, my daughter-in-law might not have been so prudish and since she wasn’t around then, she never  had a opportunity to put in a bid.    I hope she never finds out.

I should have just stowed them in the wardrobe.