I'm in the process of starting work as a contributor to a sex book. It's in encyclopedia format, and I have to choose from a pre-prepared list of entries. I have these giggly conversations with the editor, a kind man with a deep voice who calmly says things like, "Well, genitals through pelvis is available, and then suppositories till the end of the list," and, "Penthouse is significant because that was the first magazine to show pubic hair."

He is an adult, and I am not, because I can't help but laugh. I think he's numb to it all, at this point.

This reminds me of the fact that when I was at home, my mother was all about talking about body parts. She's undergoing some, ahem, female-related surgery tomorrow, and has been doing so much research that I think she's a little numb to it, too.

So we were driving in the car one day, talking about our dog, Allie, who's 18 years old, blind, deaf, and arthritic. I was wondering why they didn't put her to sleep already. Whenever I come home all she does is walk around in circles.

"She's fine," said my mom. "There's nothing wrong with her. Well, a couple of nights ago, when I came home she was rubbing her crotch on the floor."

At the word crotch, I twitched.

"She's either got a problem with her vagina or her anus."

"Mom!"

"What?"

"I don't want to hear you say vagina."

She ignored me and continued, "So we took her to the vet. And then I had to teach your father how to apply the medicine to her vagina."

"OK, you know what, Mom? Enough."

"But she's fine. We don't need to put her to sleep."

There was silence for a moment in the car.

"Mom, if I ever come home and find you rubbing your crotch on the floor, would you want me to put you to sleep?"

Without a pause, she said, "Yes."

These are the conversations mothers and daughters have. In my family, at least.

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