Page 51 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“What the hell, Gran?” I place a hand over my rapidly beating heart.
“What? I can’t enjoy a cup of tea in my own kitchen?”
“Sure, you can, but in the pitch black? What were you doing?”
She ignores my question and raps on the table twice, startling me.
“I’m glad you’re here. It’s time we had ‘The Talk.’”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Please don’t tell me you mean the sex talk,” I say as I grab a bunch of grapes from the refrigerator and put them in a bowl.
“What other talk is there?”
“Gran,” I say as I take a seat beside her. “I’m rapidly approaching thirty. If you wanted to have the sex talk, we probably should have had it—oh, I don’t know—nearly two decades ago?” I lean back in my chair and smooth my pajamas over my baby bump. “As you can see, I figured it out.”
“Clearly, you figured out ‘the sex,’ but did you do it safely?”
“Apparently not, Gran! I’m pregnant!”
“Well, at least let me talk to you about STDs then.”
“La, la, la!” I sing and stick my fingers in my ears.
Not one to be deterred, she speaks louder. “Let’s see, what are the biggies…?” She taps her chin with her finger. “Ooh, gonorrhea! That’s a good one. Yes, you’ve got to avoid gonorrhea. What’s another one…?” More thoughtful taps on her chin. “Genital warts! Genital warts are very bad stuff. And from what I understand, the clap is just terrible too.”
I’m not sure why I’m engaging in this, but…
“Actually, Gran, the clap is gonorrhea. They’re the same thing.”
“Really? I always assumed the clap was chlamydia.”
“Well, it’s not. It’s gonorrhea.”
She looks at me with affection. “My granddaughter is so smart. Now, why do you suppose it’s called the clap, sweetheart?”
This is certainly not the conversation I thought I’d be having tonight.
I pop a grape in my mouth. “Actually, there are different theories about that. One theory is that in the early days of gonorrhea treatment, people would literally clap the penis to try to expel the disease.”
“Oh dear!” Gran winces.
“I know, right? Some of the other theories have to do with etymology. The French word clapier means brothel—a place where many STDs were transmitted back in the day. And clappan is an old English word that means to beat or throb. It describes the pain of the gonorrhea itself.”
Gran’s brow furrows. “May I ask why you know so much about this subject?”
“Don’t worry, Gran. I’ve never run into trouble on that front.” I shrug. “You know me. I was an English major. I love words.”
“So… how’s your writing coming?”
Smooth, Gran, smooth.
“Gran.” I give her a look.
“What? You mentioned how much you love words. It was an excellent segue for me to ask you about your writing.”
I sigh. “You know as well as anyone that I don’t write anymore.”
