How is it p ossible that I have been the mother of four boys, the
oldest 27 years old, and I don't know the first thing about athletic
cups?My oldest boy was in soccer until his kicking toe got an
ingrown toenail, but either he didn't need an athletic cup or my
husband was recruited for that purchase. But that was 17 years ago!
I can't be expected to remember that when I have trouble
remembering my kids' names.
However, I'm pretty sure I didn't make that purchase, because I
would have remembered it. When my 13-year-old needed one last week,
I was stumped.
We had to get a mouth guard and an athletic cup. The mouth guard
was easy. This was for my 13-year-old, after all.
I just needed to find the biggest one they had.
The athletic cup was a different story. This section held an
interesting array of sizes and colors. Presumably nobody else would
see this particular accessory, so the color wasn't so important.
Although, if cups came in neon or glow-in-the-dark, my son
would've been able to locate it easier in the bottomless pit he
calls his closet.
Size, however... that was going to be a problem. The store
carried youth sizes S, M and L and adult sizes S, M and L. There was
a spot for XL, but those were sold out. Of course they were sold
out!
If I were a man shopping for one of these things, XL would be my
only option. Anything smaller would be unacceptable.
Was my son a large youth or a small adult? Since I haven't seen
that part of his anatomy for quite some time, I wasn't sure what
kind of progress he'd made down there.
I kept looking down at him, trying to gauge his size through his
clothes.
"Mom, stop that!" he whispered, embarrassed. "There are people
looking!"
"OK, look, there is a chart on the back that goes by weight. But
it only goes to 90 pounds. You are 108 pounds."
"Let's try the adult one," he said with a hint of masculine
pride.
I picked one up. "Those have no chart."
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 "Wait, Mom. Here's one that goes by inches."
I'm sure the look on my face was priceless. "You're kidding!"
The thought of an athletic cup being measured in inches made me a
little slap-happy and I started giggling. Yeah, I know... real
mature.
"What is the lowest size?" I choked out.
"Thirty-two inches... Mom! Stop laughing!!"
We were beginning to draw a small group of people who suddenly
appeared in the athletic accessories aisle and pretended that soccer
cleats were the most fascinating item in the store. I needed to get
a grip!
"What's that little hole in the middle for, Mom? They don't
expect you to pee through that, do they?"
By this time, tears of laughter were rolling down my face.
"I hope not, because your aim is nowhere near that good! I think
the hole is to let you breathe."
Looking back, I can't imagine what my son was thinking after that
explanation.
I wondered if we could just grab one and leave, because I really
needed to get out of there. My son thought I had lost my mind.
Was this one of those items that you are not allowed to return if
it doesn't fit? I was willing to take that chance!
Somehow I managed to get through the checkout without
embarrassing myself or my son, and we left the store with the cup
that might or might not fit.
I decided that if it didn't fit, my husband would be foraging the
wild athletic accessory aisles to find the right one. I definitely
was not the right person for this particular job.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist,
author and speaker. You can reach her at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more info. |
