I just had lunch with my friend Ann, who told me a story that actually caused me to spit the water I was drinking across the table. One night, Ann’s husband was working late and she was in bed, watching “Sex in the City.” She got up to brush her teeth, then got back into bed and continued to watch the show. After around ten minutes, she noticed the comforter draped across the bottom of the bed had begun to move ever so slightly. Upon investigation, she discovered it contained her seven-year old son Graham, who had wrapped himself up in it while she was in the bathroom. She turned the television off immediately. The show was particularly raunchy that night, but she felt pretty sure that the sexual references went over Graham’s head.
The next day, Ann and Graham joined a friend and her son at a nearby restaurant for lunch. They sat down at the table and the waitress came over with menus. “Yum, it all looks so good!” Ann said. “Do you guys know what you want to eat?”
Ann found out Graham retained a thing or two from the previous night when he announced, “Well, I can tell you one thing, I’m not going to eat pussy.”