Sex and the Generational Gap

My dear friend Allie and I often pass the doldrum hours of the work day gabbing on google chat (wild children that we are). As we chat, myriad topics pass our screens - the funny, the bizarre, and often, the inane to anyone but us.

Today, I related a fun story to her of a conversation I had with my mother this morning. My mom, a loyal Alytude reader, expressed excitement at the quality of entries for my OhMiBod. “It’s so sweet, how all those girls use their love of music to pass the time when they miss their boy friends.”

I pause. “Mommy, what do you think the OhMiBod is?”

Adorably, (innocently?) she thought it was a thigh strap to hold your iPod in place so it could accompany you in your journeys as you listen. Exercising? Walking? Doing laundry? Your music, and, in effect, your love…it can travel with you. Wholesome and lovely.

Imagine the chagrin when I told her the truth behind their heartfelt verses, and what their desire was, in actuality, for. “Oh.”

The generational gap is a fun treat of changing meaning that knows no time boundaries. In my youth, my grandmother expressed distaste for daytime soaps because of all of the “oral sex” - we later figured out she meant kissing with (gasp!)  tongue rather than oral penetration of another kind. And Allie today related a story to me of her friend’s mom, who would sing along with “I Touch Myself”… wistfully sighing of the innocence of love, not knowing she was actually versing a tribute to a good old-fashioned self-shag.

Moms of the world, you are how we get through our days. Or at least, giggling about you, is.