I Have A Cleavage!

Well, tonight's escapade certainly takes the cake. We were enjoying ourselves at a favorite restaurant. Seated at the round table were Brian, our two daughters, Melissa and Caroline, Emily (Caroline's friend), and I. It was a late night for us all, and fatigue was beginning to set in.

Happily enjoying my entree, and somewhat lost in my thoughts, I wasn't even looking at Caroline, my 10-year-old, when she blurted out, "Look! I have a cleavage!"

*Note: Caroline is small for her age, and she's not even close to entering physical maturity yet.*

Her outburst hung in the air. Brian's mouth nearly fell onto his lap. Melissa, who's recently found herself smack in the middle of being a 13-year-old young lady and is therefore very conscious of adhering to social mores, flashed a look of horror to me. Because the tables were located unusually close together, several people who were sitting alongside us became momentarily silent, as they, too, turned their heads toward Caroline.

Startled, I shot a questioning look at her and asked, "WHAT are you talking about?!?"

In her raised hand, Caroline proudly held up a piece of white, sinewy material that she'd just finished extracting from within the exoskeleton of her crab legs.

"Oh, Honey, " I continued, trying not to choke on my food as I laughed aloud. "That's CARTILAGE, not cleavage! You have a piece of cartilage!"

Well, at least she'd mastered the last syllable - "age." The others around our table - and for that matter, nearly half of the restaurant - embraced the humor of the moment.

Except for Melissa, who just stared at Caroline and rolled her eyes. The amount of irritation in Melissa's voice was so thick that I could've cut it with my butter knife: "A cleavage - CAROLINE - is the line that forms when your boobs are pushed together!" More eye rolling by my older daughter was again demonstrated.

Giggling around our table erupted, especially by the younger girls. It turned out to be a good night, cleavage and all.