A little while ago the Tsunamis and I went for one of our 'little walks' where we just head off for a wander and talk around the neighbourhood. We were passing by one of Maxi's classmate's house and they all begged to go in for a visit. I had reservations because as much as I love a 'pop in' (I'm a country girl after all), I wasn't close to the mum and didn't know if it was appropriate. I figured we could just knock on the door and I could say 'we were just passing by and if it's not convenient we'll head straight out'.
Which is exactly what we did. But the minute she opened the door, I knew it was a mistake, she looked frazzled and caught out and not at all impressed to find us on the doorstep. I made to leave but she insisted that we come in and wouldn't hear of us going. I felt trapped by her politeness and annoyed that I hadn't thought the scenario through properly. This is the city, people, and city people just don't do the pop!
So we sat down for a cup of excruciatingly polite conversation while the children went outside onto the trampoline. Between helium-light exchanges about work and school and babies we could hear the children outside having enormous amounts of fun. Ah well, I thought, it's worth it if the kids are that happy.
Then the cry went up: "Ha, ha! Maxi's got his pants down, Maxi's got his pants down".
Oh dear, I thought. There he goes again.
Maxi-Taxi is a born naturist. Ever since he was a baby he's loved to get his kit off and let it all hang out (so to speak). He is famous for his after bath 'rudey nudey runs', which even at seven he still proudly does for Gran and Pops when they come to visit. They are thrilled, as you can imagine.
My companion looked concerned. "Did they say his pants are down?" she asked. "Underpants?"
"Oh yes, probably Maxi's alwa -" Before I could finish the sentence, she had shot out of her chair like a gun going off, the chair falling backwards and clattering to the floor with an almighty bang. She raced across the room and flung herself onto the balcony that overlooks the backyard, her face as white as a sheet. Oh my god, I thought. Did I miss something? I leapt after her at speed.
The scene below was a nudist carnival. By this stage all six children had their pants down and were jumping up and down, chanting their new favourite song, the "pants down on the trampoline" song. It was a merry sight indeed.
"Oh my god!" my companion screamed over the balcony. "Get your pants on! Get them on! Dear god, put them on!"
"Oh, come on, they're only children," I soothed. "Just having a bit of fun."
"Fun!?" she screeched. "Fun!? My daughter has been exposed to a Penis and you call it fun?"
Uh oh. She used the capital P word. Uh oh.
She turned back to the romping festival and her voice carried across the treetops all the way to China. "GET THOSE PANTS ON NOW YOU FILTHY LITTLE CHILDREN. NOW!"
Well, that was certainly the end of the "pants down on the trampoline" song. All children immediately stopped jumping. Except for the Badoo, who continued on her merry way and started to take her top off for good measure. Bless that Badoo.
"I hardly think they're 'filthy', um, that's a really strong word," I ventured, terrified of the moral indignation that was all white eyes and flaring nostrils beside me. "They're too young to know about such things."
"Not too young, never too young. My daughter needs to be Protected, can you not see that?" She glowered at me, repulsed by my lazy assessment of the situation. Her eyes shot bullets at this loose, moral-desert she found before her. "No wonder your child is Exposing Himself to his school friends!"
Whoa, Miss Nelly, I thought. But, you know, in life there are some battles that you just know will kill you so I elected to bunker down in the trenches. I resisted the urge to flash her my boobs and simply called "Get your pants on, kids. It's getting dark and we have to be getting home."
Amidst the inevitable "Oh mum, we just got heres", I bustled them over to the hedonistic freedom beyond the front door.
"Righto," I said. "We're off. Thanks for the cup of, ah, tea."
"Oh, you're going?" she purred, all traces of righteous anger washed away by the sight of fully-clothed children. "That's such a shame. You know, we hardly ever see you. We really should get together for a family barbecue. Are you free next weekend?"
"Next weekend? Well, we do have that family Nudist Convention on," I said blithely. "But maybe the weekend after?"
Ha! Not true. I mumbled something about checking my calendar and got the hell out of Dodge. Shaken, stirred and downright offended. What the hell happened there?
Do you think children pulling their pants down on the trampoline and singing about it is morally repugnant?
Is it common practice for people to serve up a cup of righteousness along with their tea?
Is it wrong that I still laugh out loud when I recall this Perfectly bizarre moment in my life?
