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I love Eddie Izzard.

And he does a routine from Dress to Kill about when he was a young lad and how he went through the thing about liking girls (he’s an executive transvestite, if memory serves me) and puberty.  The funny thing in that stand-up routine was the splashy-splashy bit. Hysterical.

So, this morning my sister Homer and her hubby, Squeegee Monkey were in the living room of chez coma when I noticed that my bro-in-law was grumbling. As usual, my sis had to translate as he was grousing about splashy-splashy.

“She did the splashy-splashy,” I heard him say to no one in particular. “Damn boys taller than me playing splashy-splashy with my little girl.”

“What are you talking about?” I said staring at my first cup of coffee and wondering why Mabel had scratched my eyelids this morning to get up with her, a mere fact I wasn’t happy about.

“Damn splashy-splashy,” he growled.

Homer, who has been with her beloved for almost 20 years smiled a bit and explained that the 11-year-old niece was at a pool party last night. She’s in 6th grade. Apparently there were some of those pesky 8th grade boys at the party and there was quite a bit of the splashy-splashy. She’s growing up and she’s really cute.

And the boys are noticing.

But, here in lies the problem, Squeegee Monkey is not ready for the splashy-splashy, swimmy-swimmy. Obviously his daughter is though.

I couldn’t help but laugh, but he gave me the stink-eye and I decided to drop it. To make it up to him for realizing that I realized he was freaking out, I bought him a six-pack of Guinness this afternoon.

So, niece #1 is playing the splashy-splashy, but that wasn’t as much of a problem with Squeegee. The problem was the 8th grade boys who were playing splashy-splashy.

God help them.

These are the times I’m really glad I’m not a parent.

(Yeah, it make me laugh. I’m still giggling. The splashy-splashy was a lot of fun if I remember …)