As we drove home listening to Funky Friday on WXPN Philadelphia, James Brown came on. The following conversation ensued.
Oldest Urchin (6 y.o.) - Mommy, what's a sex machine?
Me - That's not what he's singing, honey. He's saying fax machine.
O.U. - *long pause*
Me - *sweating profusely and averting all eye contact in the darkened interior of the front seat*
O.U. - Oh. Ok.
My profuse relief was interrupted as The Man leans over and sniffs the air around me.
T.M. - I think I smell burning pants.
Me - *through clenched teeth* Lying is a perfectly acceptable tool in the parental arsenal when emergencies, such as the one that was just averted, arise.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.