Most evenings while I am cooking dinner, there is a little time for me to have a break. The News is on TV at this time and once I get dinner going, I sit on the couch with my legs propped up and more than likely I have a drink in my hand. This is my happy place, my down time, the “me” time between playing with my five year-old and feeding my family.

Occasionally, and when I say occasionally, I mean if I’m lucky, Azul is bored with me by this point and goes into his room to play. This evening I was lucky. Ahhh! But all of a sudden he ran to me at full speed, stopped and breathing heavily he asked, “Do wrestlers wear shirts?” Oh, no! I thought, this means the clothes are about to come off! So, to stop the topless show before it even started I said, “Well, some wrestlers are fully clothed.” That’ll do it. I tricked him into keeping his shirt on.

He laughed at what I had said, with his mouth wide open and his head tilted all the way back. And once he regained his composure he asked, “Some just wear bigboys, right?” If you didn’t figure it out, bigboys are underpants or drawers or underwear or whatever nickname you gave your potty training toddler that has stuck through the years.

Recognizing my defeat and knowing there will be a shirtless boy in my near future, I said, “Yes, some just wear bigboys.” And in a flash he was gone!

To my surprise, upon his return he was yelling, “I am a wrestler!” Then I was attacked by a naked little boy. It was as if he had flown through the air from the top rope of a wrestling ring to pin me for a count of three. I yelled back, “Wrestlers aren’t naked!” Thinking, And if they are, there is usually some type of jello involved. There was no jello.

“Being naked gives you strength!” My nemesis retorted. He was right as I recoiled from his new-found power. He won!