My mom and the BBC (that's Big Black Cock, between you and me)

Now, you may think that this post title is just there to get me loads of extra hits.  Trust me it's not, but I've no doubt it'll up the numbers somewhat.  

I don't know about my fellow bloggers, but I use Google Analytics to keep track of readership stats, etc.  I know, it's a bit OCD of me, but I like to know how many people love me.  A usual month these days sees around 2500 visits - I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but it's a treat for my poor undernourished ego.  

Anyway, that's not what this is about.

You may remember my experience with the DumbAss Yank in Brussels at the Taschen store?  Well, stupidly (or brilliantly perhaps?) I ended up in the Paris branch of Taschen with my Mom last weekend.

I was hoping that she might spot something to buy me for my birthday in there.  She didn't.

Anyway, I had my head in a lovely book of Eero Saarinen architecture when I realised that I'd lost her.  She'd left the pretty architecture and fancy hotel section of the shop and was nowhere to be seen.

And then I found her.

In the 'adult' section.

Now, not only was she in the 'adult' section, but she'd found herself a lovely copy of the 'Big Penis Book' to leaf through.

When I caught up with her, she was flush of face and not a little giggly.

"What would you do with this, bab?" she asked, opening the book to reveal a photo of a black chap with a penis that could only be described as, erm, long, thin and scary.  Really, it was hanging to the middle of his shin.

"I guess you'd wear it as a scarf" I said, trying to sound comfortable with the conversation.

"Well, I think it's awful" she said.  "But this one...." and she turned to the page that her other finger had been marking.

This second page contained yet another 'gentleman of colour' and his member.  But this time the penis was meatier.  It was less long, but what it lacked in length - and it lacked nothing in length really, but was just not as much of a record breaker as the previous offering - anyway, what it lacked in length, it certainly made up for in girth.

"I like this one" she said.  

"Right" said I, now visibly squirming.  "Let's go".

I took her for ice cream at the gelateria next door in an attempt to take her mind of the book.

As she tucked into her ice cream - she chose 'dark chocolate and cream', no lie - she turned to me with a pensive, serious look on her face.

"It's a wonder that you and your brother aren't coffee-coloured boys" she said.

I spluttered my Dulce de Leche over the shopping bags.

Sometimes I wish we could just bond over shoes.