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.
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Words, wOrds, WoRDS
1 week ago
4 comments:
That is too freaking funny! I too have had burning pants lately. Watch out for when they get older. It does not get easier. Plus, then they have friends they can ask.
Misty
Crap! I'm in trouble soon!
Bwah ha ha ha!
My pants have also burned lately.
...and sorry to say, you are in trouble soon...prepare yourself for the questions...
Dang. I think I'll start practicing my paparazzi answers. "Sorry, no comment."
That or plead the Fifth.
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