the fig leaf police

My mother stopped in to nab cans of soup and stock from the pantry cupboard, to claim an ice cream bucket of fresh-picked asparagus as her own. I was having coffee, finishing my breakfast, and we chatted.

Mid-conversation, I noticed her staring at the fridge.

“Why do you have this naked boy here?”

She was referring to David, the statute, in magnet form.

“It’s David, mom.”

She took another magnet – one fashioned to look like a bouquet of flowers – and placed it over David’s not-so-private privates.