Dicknose

Eons ago on a date with a new boyfriend, we took his three year old nephew to the park. I was anxious to demonstrate my maternal side, so I pushed the little tyke on the swings, chased him enthusiastically through the grass, climbed the play structure with him and carried him piggy back style rambunctiously across the park. I was sure I’d look up to find my boyfriend watching me admiringly, imagining me as the mother of his future children. How could he not? I was busting my motherly hump. Did I mention the back breaking piggyback thing? When my boyfriend asked his nephew his opinion of the new girlfriend, the little wiseguy replied, “She’s a dicknose.

Excuse me? A dicknose says what?

Fine. He was three and apparently this was his new thing—he called everyone a dicknose. Stellar parenting on my-never-to-be-sister-in-law’s part by the way. Sorry, too judgey? (In my defense, the child called me a dicknose!)

Alas this boyfriend and I never married nor had a brood of babies. Turns out, the dicknose kid’s uncle was a dickhead. Sigh.That guy did a number on me. If only I knew in my twenties what I now know in my forties I would’ve kicked his misogynistic arse to the curb much sooner. 

Anyway, this particular memory popped into my head yesterday as I taught my daughter how to “get my nose.” You know, when you pretend to remove their nose from their face, waving your thumb around, as though it’s the severed nose. Nice. I make a clicking sound with my tongue on the roof of my mouth and say, “Here’s your nose!” as I reattach her nose onto her face. Since she can’t physically make the clicking noise, when she puts my stolen nose back, instead she exclaims, “Cock…nose!”

So, either she’s limited by her inability to replicate my clicking noise and speak in full sentences or, she’s calling me a cocknose…

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