Maybe It's Time for THE TALK

Love triangles are challenging enough when they back a guy into a corner, but it appears that a quadrangle just might help a fella wriggle OUT of a corner.
I always had figured that Vincent, a 7-year-old who has been blessed with sultry, lady-killing good looks, would be the Class Casanova of his clan. Serious and thoughtful, he projects a come-hither look into a camera that would have melted the celluloid back in the days before digital. And some day, I suspect that that same Hud-like visage will melt the hearts of the ladies swooning at his feet.
His 4-year-old brother, Jack, also is a handsome devil (lest you think this is blind bragging on my part, I must inform you that they are step-grandkids, so I can’t take credit for their looks). But Jack’s devil-may-care approach to life and his fondness for snakes, snails and dinosaur tales had led me to believe that he would just as soon see a girl squished under a tyrannosaurus rex as give her the time of day. Even though he makes friends easily with girls, I still doubt that they will become a priority for him anytime soon.
The gaggle of girls who have taken a gander at Jack at preschool are another matter. They had tried to elbow each other out of the way to get close to him several times previously, but they apparently got into such a dust-up the other day that it could have rivaled the latest bodice-ripper on a bookstore shelves.
This particular time — perhaps it was preschool mating season, for all I know — the coquettish covey’s quest for attention from the laid-back lad escalated toward a full-scale, fur-flying furor. With their claws extended and teeth bared and manes flared, acting more like ferocious lions fighting for turf and a lair of lionesses calmly waiting for the winner, they loudly proclaimed their intentions to marry Jack.
Perhaps I exaggerate, but I can only relate what I heard, more or less.
“I‘m going to marry Jack!” one said.
“No, I’m going to marry him,” another proclaimed.
Still another: “I‘m going to marry Jack!!”
As the struggle approached biblical proportions, God’s gift to wimmin decided to intercede. Jack raised his hands, probably similar to Moses’ gesture when he parted the Red Sea, and invoked the wisdom of Solomon, proclaiming: “Girls! Girls! GIRLS! You can marry one of my brudders!”
The teacher nearly died laughing, and apparently the hubub subsided, with no injuries to body, mind or heart.
The thought occurred to me that, if Jack starts pimping his brudders, the boys might need The Talk sooner than expected. And, although Vincent likes to pal around with girls, the only girl whom 2-year-old Luke is interested in these days is Mommy.
And baby Patrick, well, let’s just say Mommy’s his priority, too, because his mother’s milk speeds him on his way to his other two talents: sleeping and dirtying diapers.
I guess that makes him the closest of the Fab Four to being a couch potato, so there aren’t going to be any girls fighting for HIS attention in the long run, if the youngest of the Italian stallions doesn’t change his ways.
Something tells me that’s all in good time, my pretties.