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No, it’s a monkey. You all have such dirty minds.

J got off the bus today with this… ummm… thing held gingerly in an upright position to his chest, its’ light brown pubic hair strips of colored paper flapping in the breeze around his legs.
His father might have been proud, but the other two moms at the bus stop were laughing hysterically. After I passed the stinkiest of stink eyes to each of my mom friends, I asked J what the fuck he had in his hands.

Okay, I didn’t say it exactly like that, but that was the gist.

He handed it to me. “It’s a monkey.” He was wearing a very “Duh Mom” expression. I turned the penis monkey over in my hands. Monkey has no face.
He didn’t give monkey a face.

Would a face might have made it better? I don’t know.

“This monkey doesn’t want to look at you- that’s his back, see?”
He points at the tail of the monkey– which has mostly fallen off on the bus; monkey has a stub now. He also lost an arm and an ear during the bus ride.
It was a long hard war for faceless monkey to make it home.

On monkeys other side is a pink oval with Js’ name on it. I ask, with most sincere confusion:
“Why’d you put your name on the back?”
“No, that’s the front.” His impatience with me is growing exponentially by the second. Right, the stump tail is on the back. He doesn’t want to see me. I didn’t think I gained that much weight…
“Well, if that’s the front, then where’s his face? Did you just not feel like giving him one?” I am totally lost.

“I told you, he doesn’t. Want. To. See. You.”

Now penis monkey is creeping me out.
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
The penis monkey goes out with the trash tonight, and in the morning I’m shaving J’s head to make sure the number of the beast is not burned upon his scalp.