I’m no prude. Normal run-of-the-mill filth has never bothered me. Boobs? Sure. Potty mouths? Mine can hang with the best of them. Violence on TV? Whatever.
Then I had kids. Everything changed. You don’t want your kids to be some overly-sheltered milquetoasts. You also don’t want your pre-schoolers watching Game of Thrones.
Music is anothe thing. My kids have grown up with the Ramones, the Pixies, the Sex Pistols all mixed in with their Wiggles, They Might Be Giants, and Beethoven. And sure: in some of those selections there’s the odd random questionable word or phrase. I usually creatively suggest an alternate and my kids are none the wiser. If anyone catches them singing about a “tattooed stick” and “number thirteen” they’ll think nothing of it.
Then along came Prince. The Purple Rain Soundtrack, to be specific.
I had been jonesing seriously for “Let’s Go Crazy” for months. Right or wrong, Prince is a total dick about his royalties. You cannot find his music on YouTube or any other free music source. I saw Purple Rain on CD for $5 on Amazon. Score!
I should also note that my car stereo is pathetic. It’s a CD/tape deck combo. Old school. Hence the CD.So Wednesday the kids and I are bopping along to our new tunes. Then. Comes. Darling. Nikki.
Oh my glob. Never has a mom hit the skip button any faster. I mean, I grew up with this. I had simply forgotten about how “they met in a hotel lobby,” and “masturbating to a magazine.” That was all before she started to grind.
Y’all, I can’t play that in front of my kids.
P.S. I also picked up Guns ‘N’ Roses Appetite for Destruction. 2nd song, Mr. Brownstone. Axle hollers quite emphatically that we should fuck off. Back to the damn Wiggles, I guess.