“Mommy,” Quentin said, “Where do babies come from?”
“Shit,” Kate said, muttering to herself. She looked around her immediate area for her husband.
“We should ask daddy!”
Quentin held his mother’s hand and dragged her along, from room to room, looking for his father. He found his father, Harold, in the living room. Harold was looking at funny pictures of cats on the Internet.
“Quentin wants to know where babies come from.”
Harold looked at Kate with wide eyes. “Shit,” he said under his breath. Harold and Kate proceeded to conduct an entire conversation, (complete with all appropriate adjectives, pronouns, inflections, tone, and narrative), using only their eyes and head tilts. Harold lost the silent argument.
“Well, champ, babies are made by mommies and daddies.” Harold looked at Kate for approval. She nodded.
“Daddy has something mommy wants,” he said. Kate began focusing on Harold’s words. Her eyelids tightened up ever so slightly. Harold continued.
“It’s something you’ll get as an adult.”
“What is it?”
“It’s this thing your body st—“
Kate quickly interjected, “It’s love!” Kate looked at Harold and mentally communicated to him that she’s going to berate him for that last comment later.
Quentin pondered momentarily. “I love mommy, can I give it to her to get a baby sister?”
“N-no. That’s not how it works,” she said.
Kate elbowed Harold.
“No, Quentin, I’m your mommy. Mommies can’t make babies with their children.”
“Unless you’re a Habsburg.”
Kate glared at Harold and pulled him to the side. “Stop it,” she said, whispering, “Take this seriously.” Harold looked visibly annoyed. “Why can’t we just tell him the truth?” he asked.
“Are you out of your mind? Tell a 5-year-old the truth about sex?” Kate began raising her voice unintentionally. Quentin’s ears perked up as he started listening intently to the private conversation his parents were having mere feet away from him with their backs turned. “Yeah, why don’t we just tell him all the gritty details,” Kate continued, getting louder, “Let’s go all out, let’s teach him the word ‘penetration’ while we’re at it.”
“Pen. A. Penetashun.”
“Oh my God,” she said, squealing. Harold held back a chortle.
“It’s ‘pen-e-tra-tion’,” Harold said, as he sounded the word out. Kate was mentally murdering Harold. He ignored her and continued.
“Specifically, market penetration. What’s your favorite toy?” Kate looked at Harold dubiously, but allowed him to continue. She was still skinning his corpse in her mind.
“Jake and the Never Land Pirates ship!” he said, excitedly.
“Right, solid choice. And how did you get this toy?”
“You gave it to me!”
“And I had to spend money to do it. You see, there’s a market for that toy. What that means is, there are people out there who really, really want that toy, and the way to get it is to give the toy makers something. They want money. You give them money, and they give you the toy.”
Quentin nodded sagely. “So you gave mommy money?”
“And then you got me?”
“Because you’re my favorite toy.”
Quentin smiled and hugged his father. He then hugged his mother.
“Thank you for selling me, mommy.”
“Oh, you’re welcome, honey!”
Quentin skipped away to his room while continuing his futile attempt to properly pronounce the word “penetration.” Kate looked at Harold apprehensively. She wasn’t sure how to react.
“You dodged a bullet.”
“That was slick though, right?”
“Yeah, until we get a call from his kindergarten teacher claiming he was trying to pay one of his classmates to make a baby for him.”
And that’s how Quentin acquired his prostitute fetish.