This is a blog that I actually stole from myself.  I needed a little comedic relief today and my son, Will, has always been a sure source of just that.  

Lately, Will has become overly obsessed with his penis, clutching it like a security blanket at home, at the grocery store, at church…

Like all boys, Will is particularly fond of his manhood.  I remember well the day he first discovered it.  He marched down the hallway into the living room wearing nothing but a pair of green frog rain boots and his Davy Crocket coon-skin hat.  He thrust his pelvis forward, pointing downward and announced, “Hey Mom!  Check out my pee-pee!”  It was a proud moment.

Since that day, he has developed some type of pee-pee paranoia.  As a result, I am developing a case of pee-pee humiliation.

Last week, my daughter was “helping” me prepare supper and Will was marching in the kitchen.  As usual, his hand was firmly clasped over his crotch.

“Will, do you need to go potty?” I asked looking up from the casserole before me.

He froze with his free hand out in front of him, glancing suspiciously around the room like some sort of spy.  “No,” he answered is raspy whisper.

“Then stop holding your pee-pee,” I said.

“I have to protect it,” he said still in spy-stance.  “There’s a bee in the house.”