As my husband would say, "You SHARE THIS with people?"

Tonight I made homemade soup for dinner, and I ladled out a bowl for myself and then poured a glass of Kahlua & milk. Between the soup and Kahlua, I was toasty-warm. I was sitting at the computer, adjacent to the kitchen, and decided it was much too hot to have a 5-pound hooded sweatshirt on. I pulled it off and was just sitting there wearing jeans and a bra. You know, like any classy woman would do. Just call me June Cleaver.

Let it be known that: (1) I never saw my mom in a bra more than a small handful of times, and it was in the privacy of her bedroom while she was changing, (2) I never saw my dad without a shirt, (3) I rarely see my husband without a shirt on, and our kids never have, and (4) I obviously am not as modest as the parents I came from or the man I married.

So, there I sat, cooling off--thinking nothing of my appearance--when my son comes into the kitchen to get his dinner. (I'd served myself the soup but didn't want my kids to have theirs until the cheesy garlic biscuits were out of the oven.)

I jumped up and said, "Oh, let me brush the biscuits with melted butter first!"--and, despite my somewhat shocking appearance--Chad didn't as much as flinch. My kids are so used to my "nakedness," as Joe loves to call it, that they don't even think twice when I parade around minus a piece of clothing. I mean, I am never naked-naked in front of them, but still. I would've died a million deaths if either one of my parents ever sat around half-dressed. (Sometimes I even died a million deaths when they sat around fully dressed, but that's neither here nor there.)

So I smirked and said to Chad, "You know, what teenage boy wouldn't love having his mom serving him food wearing just a bra and jeans?" And without missing a beat, Chad says, "Yeah, I know! I can't even imagine!" So I added, "I mean really! Who needs Hooters, anyway?!?"

I hope my kids' future therapists appreciate all the material I regularly provide.