The scene: My two boys, neither of whom has hit double digits, are eating dinner at home with me and my husband. Older boy has burped with a wide-open mouth for, oh, maybe the fifth time in the meal. Mom is DONE. So, I try to make this a teaching time, you know, about life.
Me: Older son, you know some day, when you're 17 or 18, you're going to want to take a pretty girl out on a date. If ya'll are sitting at the table and you do that, she is going to want you to take her right home, and won't go out with you again.
Older son: (nonchalantly) So, that's when I'll need a back-up plan.
Me: (totally confused) A back-up plan?
Younger son: (In the well-of-course-voice) Yeah, another little girl.
Me: (trying to smother instant laughter) Well, see there's a problem with that plan. Teen-age girls would talk about these things, and the first little girl would tell the second about how older son has horrible manners.
Younger son: (shrugs eloquently, like of course this is no big deal): Well, then you need a third little girl.
Older son: (piling on here) Yeah.
My husband: Laughing uncontrollably.
Me: Also laughing uncontrollably, and thinking well, at this rate, I won't have to worry about them dating at all.
Just an example. The younger son is six, and honey, we rarely catch him flatfooted. He has an answer for everything. Maybe in my retirement years he can support me with his lawyer's salary.
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