My hastily produced rendition of the card in question.
My job, as it always seems to be on Cub Scouts outings, was to protect the children from all things of and having to do with sex. I’m not sure how I keep falling into this role, but I do, and it happened again yesterday at the Cub Scouts tour of the supermarket, of all places.
Sigh.
The last time I found myself scrambling to figure out what to do when the children were confronted by private body parts and such, I was accompanying my son’s Cub Scouts den to the zoo. Naturally, one might expect to see an animal or two in heat there, but still, I was not prepared for the turtle porn, as mentioned in this video I produced shortly after the incident. (Please pardon the chemo curl.)
This time, though, it had nothing to do with animals and everything to do with a birthday card featuring the statue of David with a birthday cake glued onto his private parts. (I’d like to have been at the editorial meeting at the card company for that one. “So, first, we put a birthday hat on his head, and then…).
Several of the older boys, who were by then bored out of their skulls with the discussions about how to order roast beef from the deli, had migrated toward the rotating card display. Naturally, they zoned in on said card of David, which was, thankfully, protected by a plastic cover. Still, that didn’t stop the three of them from attempted to pull off the birthday cake, which was affixed to David’s privates by a small spring. (Again, see above about card company meeting.)
“Don’t touch the cards,” I said, looming over them, grateful that I’ve still got a good eight inches of height over most fifth graders.
“Why is there a cake there?” one asked the other. Then he invited other Cub Scouts to check it out. Now I had five boys mesmerized by the David card with the birthday cake on his hoo-hoo.
“Don’t touch the cards,” I reminded them, but this card was way too much fun for them to ignore. I mean, how often do you get to see some of Michelangelo’s finest works all decorated for a birthday party at, say, Chippendale’s? So, I tried embarrassment.
“I wonder what’s under the cake?” I asked one kid, who immediately blushed. I banked that one for soccer season, as I am the boy’s coach. It’ll come in handy someday when he’s not listening to my instructions.
“I guarantee you that if you buy the card and bring it home and pull off that cake, there will be nothing there but white paper and your disappointment,” I announced, shooing the kids away from the card display.
Luckily, our supermarket tour director announced, “Who’d like some cheese?” At which point, the kids abandoned David in favor of a hunk of store-made mozzarella.
Sigh.
I pulled the den leader over and showed her the card.
“Last time, turtle porn. This time, birthday cakes on wieners. I’m glad they move up to Boy Scouts soon. I can’t take this much longer.”
She chuckled, and then we both got some free cheese.
