A woman brings eight-year-old Johnny home and tells his mother that he was caught playing doctors and nurses with Mary, her eight-year-old daughter.
Johnny's mother says, "Let's not be too harsh on them... they're bound to be curious about sex at that age."
"Curious about sex?" replies Mary's mother. "He took her appendix out!"
The six year old daughter enjoyed asking questions. She enjoyed asking lots of questions. Finally, one day, the girl's mom had had enough. "Have you ever heard that curiosity killed the cat?" asked the mom.
"No," replied the girl.
"There was once a cat who was very inquisitive. One day, this cat looked into a big whole, fell in, and died!"
The little girl just stood there quietly, deep in her own thoughts. There was a pause. "So what was in the hole?"
Your bedroom isn't cluttered; it's "passage-restrictive."
Kids don't get in trouble anymore. They merely hit "social speed bumps."
You're not having a bad hair day; you're suffering from "rebellious follicle syndrome."
No one's tall anymore. They're "vertically enhanced."
You're not shy. You're "conversationally selective."
You don't talk a lot. You're just "abundantly verbal."
It's not called gossip anymore. It's "transmission of near-factual information."
The food at the school cafeteria isn't awful. It's "digestively challenged."
Your homework isn't missing; it's just having an "out-of-notebook experience."
You're not sleeping in class; you're "rationing consciousness."
You don't have smelly gym socks; you have "odor-retentive athletic footwear."
You weren't passing notes in class. You were "participating in the discreet exchange of penned meditations."
You're not being sent to the principal's office. You're "going on a mandatory field trip to the administrative building."