Flashback: Hotdog

I just had a flashback. Cue pulse of blinding white light. I’m in the past.

I’m sitting on the floor in the tiled hallway of my childhood home; I’m talking on the phone with my boyfriend.

The hallway was as far as the cord could reach. So I pulled the phone from the kitchen and had conversations in the hallway. My mom didn’t know that I was talking to my boyfriend because she didn’t know I had a boyfriend. I wasn’t allowed, in high school, to have boyfriends.

Him and me, we were talking about something stupid. I don’t remember what it was, but I’m sure it must have been stupid. Anyhow, for whatever reason, I said the word hot dog. Hotdog. And my mom, who had been busy in the kitchen during the duration of my telephone conversation, comes bolting around the corner, her face contorted in a look of disgust. What did you say about hotdogs? Huh? What did you say? Who are you talking to? Who is that? A boy? You’re on the phone at night talking to a boy about hotdogs?

So, yeah, that happened. I didn’t understand the way I understand now that kids are shady, and people do thangs they ain’t supposed to do. And adults are hip to what’s down. And my mom had a mind in the gutter. And my mom was probably right. We were probably talking in code.  Hot dog probably meant penis.

Way to go mom for hitting a fast one.

 

Footnote:  The featured image of that awesome phone is not my own. Only in another dimension would I be so lucky as to get my hands on that thing. Sigh.