Parental Horrors

I was originally going to title this "Things you never want to see in your parents bathroom" but that seemed rather lengthy and tedious.  Anyway, I have a short little story to share with you all tonight.

It was a warm, summer evening during the year of...whenever I was 13.  So, summer between seventh and eighth grade.  Probably the year 2000.  I'm almost positive.  Maybe.  *cough*  Continuing on.

It was a warm, summer evening during the year of (most likely) 2000.  My brother and I had just spent the last part of the daylight finishing washing the vehicles in our family (read: spraying each other with the hose and chasing the other with a soapy, water-drenched sponge and being as unproductive as possible).

Well at some point, I ran into the brick corner of the house and tore open a gash on my leg that immediately started bleeding like I had been run through with a spear.  I bleed easily and silently, like a blood ninja.  Seriously, I've cut myself so many times and didn't notice until my mom shrieked at me for bleeding all over her carpets.  One of these days I'm going to bleed out because I don't notice that I'm actually bleeding.

I trudged upstairs to the master bathroom where the medical supplies awaited.  Flinging open various drawers, I pulled out what appeared to be Neosporin ointment.  As I was opening the tube, I noticed the label.

Lubricant.

What would they need lubricant for? My innocent, 13-year old mind queried before shrugging and digging around for the Neosporin instead.

I'm going to pause for a minute to emphasis, no swear, on all that is sacred and good and holy that I am telling the truth.

I.  Had.  No.  Idea.  What.  Lubricant.  Was.  For.

So fucking sheltered, oh my god.

Anyway.

It wasn't until my freshman year of COLLEGE when I was writing (procrastinating on writing, really) some silly essay for Dr. Fitts on some silly story in our silly book that I can't even remember the name of that I came across something, COMPLETELY BY ACCIDENT I SWEAR, that...well...lets just say I learned what lubricant was for.

I was scarred for life.

Again, terribly, HORRIBLY sheltered.  Good freaking grief.

The next conversation with my parents was awkward, on my end anyway.

They had no fucking clue that I had seen what I had seen in their bathroom all those years ago.

*shudder*