The Magic Words

I have found the key, the charm, the magic words for parenting teenaged sons. A short phrase, just four simple syllables:

Bikini wax.

No, you don't threaten them with it. You just say it.

Yesterday Owen telephoned, and we were chatting away when suddenly I remembered I had a 3:30 waxing appointment. "I'm sorry to cut you short, hon," said I, "but I have to go or I'll be late for my bikini wax." A groan emanated from the other end of the line. "Oh, oh, geez, why'd you actually have to say it? Why'd you have to ruin a perfectly good conversation?"

Hmm.

Then I hollered goodbye up to Hugh. "Yo, Hugh, I'm off."
"What? Where ya goin'?" (He always responds as if it's unthinkable I should ever actually have any place to go.)
"Bikini wax," I shouted.
"Ohh, that is so disgusting. I think I'm gonna be sick."

So there you have it. Two little words to fling at them whenever they're driving you nuts. Four seemingly innocuous yet oh-so-powerful syllables, and they're whimpering.

I wonder how they'd respond to Brazilian.