I was in ninth grade, age fourteen, and I got in a silly argument with my Mumsey. So, I tried out the latest obnoxious thing I had learned from some older kids. I called her a douche bag. My father heard it and immediately walked over to me with a stern look on his face, and said, “Do you know what a douche bag is?” “No,” I mumbled.
“Come with me,” he said, “I’ll show you.” He led me into the bathroom and pointed at the red rubber bag hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I was confused. I had always thought it was a hot water bottle. My father quickly explained that many women, including my mother, used the hose with a white plastic nozzle at the bottom of the bag to wash their vaginas. UGH, I thought. “Does this douche bag look like your Mumsey?” he asked mildly. I shook my head no. “Then please, do not ever call her a douche bag again.”
I never did. Well, not to her face anyway.