Son #2 is 15. He is smart, and sweet, and a great writer (although not entirely committed to the concept of turning his work in on time, at school. He'd rather work on whatever is on his mind, for fun. The school system is only there to destroy him.)
He is also 6'4" and still growing. His hair falls to his collar in glossy, chestnut curls. And he has a very deep voice. For years, I've been telling him, "Don't you worry. You hit college, and the girl thing is going to get very easy for you." He does not believe me. But, trust me, I have complimented him on his appearance. I have encouraged him to go out for theater. I have told him he has a very attractive voice.
But I am Mom.
Last week, the Sons were playing around with a video recorder. First time in years Son #2 had heard himself, recorded. He ran up the stairs, swathed in fake seriousness.
"MOM! Why didn't you TELL me I have such a buttery, man-muffin voice?"
So, there you go. My second son is a buttery man-muffin. Pass it on.