privacy policy

Dear ONE,

The more I think about it, the more positive I am that you still don’t understand what PRIVACY means. And now that you’re requesting it for things like playing with your friends or spending time with your 16 year-old cousin, I feel this is the perfect time to review exactly what it is you’re requesting.

PRIVACY is leaving someone entirely alone, even for a short amount of time. Creating a somewhat false, but relaxing, atmosphere in which they feel hidden and safe.

Allow me to elaborate:

• PRIVACY isn’t just for you. I’m glad you’d like it while in the bathroom, but I do too. This includes, but is not limited to, no longer speaking to/screaming at me from the other side of the door, not “checking to see if the door is locked” (it’s always locked). And seriously, stop telling me that you’d rather I didn’t have magazines in there. Where else am I supposed to learn about what’s happening in the Entertainment Industry? I need to feel conversationally relevant too. Back off.

• While we’re on the subject of bathrooms, let’s address Public PRIVACY. I’m oh-so-glad you can reach the restroom door lock. Really I am. I celebrate the childless morons who didn’t think to add a second, higher-up lock for parents who have to cart small inquisitive minds everywhere with them. But don’t open the door while I’m mid-stream. And don’t teach your sister to do it, either.

• You don’t get PRIVACY to tattle-tale. Everyone knows what you’re going to say when I give you a time out you call to your dad and ask to speak with him in your chambers “privately.” Time-out is the Ultimate PRIVACY. I know I enjoy it. You should invest in learning to also.

• Personal PRIVACY means, and don’t roll your eyes because you clearly don’t get it, not running around with untethered loins. Sure it’s fun and exciting and apparently refreshing at the pool. But I don’t want another incident of you telling the lifeguard “TWO was looking for my belly button and she poked my vagina” when I can’t reach you to make you stop because I’m struggling to get your wet, angry sister into clothes. Because first of all, if you didn’t shove yourself in her face while you were buffing it, she wouldn’t have the opportunity and second, it’s only July. The summer is only going to get hotter. Don’t get us kicked out of the pool.

• The other side of Personal PRIVACY means relinquishing your right to opinionated commentary while I’m getting dressed. I’ve said it many times, and someday I hope you’ll believe that I really don’t care that you wish I’d wear prettier, princess-y panties like you. I won’t. I never will. If you want us to match, make us bracelets. In quiet time.

• Personal PRIVACY also extends to other people. Strangers. A phrase like, “Why when he bends over his butt falls out?” is not appropriate when the person is right in front of us. I’d say you shouldn’t be staring at his butt, but I understand why that’s impossible. To spare us both the follow-up question, I’ll just state for the record that I don’t know why he’s wearing tight, fitted jeans belted below his ass with a t-shirt kind of tucked into his boxers which are up around his ribs. At least in my day the jeans were baggy and heavy so you could almost understand the whole “sagging” look. But I don’t get it with the tight jeans either.  Regardless, it’s inappropriate to yell about it on the escalator. File it under a “wait until we’re in the car conversation.”

Short story long, I’m happy to give you PRIVACY, but I want it in return. And not pouty, moaning, resigned PRIVACY. I want the real-deal.

Let’s give it a go.

Quietly back away from the bathroom door, I’m gonna be in here for awhile.

Got that?

Regards,
Mama

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©2009 CEK. All Rights Reserved. Touch my stuff and your ass is mine. Pun intended.

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