So, I was driving the kids to a morning’s fun.  We were to meet up with a bunch of other lesbo parents,  people we’d known since the beloved and I met them in a wimmin-lovin’-wimmin’s childbirth education class.  We’ve had a baby/toddler/youngin-filled meet-up monthly ever since.

The kids and I were stopped at a light at the end of the freeway offramp, and I saw an odd pair of smooth bumps on a tree in the landscaped area next to the offramp. If I were a better arborist I’d call them something other than bumps — some kind of internal tree pimple of some sort. Not the nubbins left after a branch was cut, but some non-lethal oddity.

“Look, kids! Look at that tree trunk right there!” I checked the rear view mirror and even backed up a little to be sure they could see it past the other cars. “Look! It’s a baboon’s booty right in the tree trunk!”

They strained to see, and then first one, then the other, saw what I saw. Giggles ensued. The bigger one of the two said, “You’re right, Baba. That does look just  like a booty.”

The littler one chanted “baboon booty, baboon booty!”

We drove along, all a-chuckle. The girlie noted how we know of various people who wouldn’t find that booty business all that funny.  Who wouldn’t even like to have heard me mention it at all. Fortunately for us all, the beloved either shares my sense of humor, or tolerates it.

“Yes, well, punkin, not everyone thinks the same things are funny.  I just happen to think a booty in a tree trunk is funny.”

She thought for a moment. “That’s my Baba,” she said, sing-song.

Without missing a beat, in the same sing-songher brother said, “That’s my pinkie!”