The Dreaded Question

Monkey Boy and two of his eight year old friends are in the back seat of a neighbors car riding home from school. Neighbor overhears this coversation while driving.

FRIEND 1: I really wanted to see that movie, but my big sister says there's too much sex in it.

MONKEY BOY: What is sex?

FRIEND 2: You don't wanna know.

MONKEY BOY: No really, I do.

FRIEND 2: I'm not gonna tell you.

[At this point, our neighbor is pretty sure Friend 2 has absolutely no clue what sex is either.]

MONKEY BOY (to Friend 1): Do you know?

FRIEND 1: I'm not sure.

MONKEY BOY (to Neighbor): What is sex?

Now at this point, neighbor has limited options:

1) She could pretend she didn't hear them and just drive home like a bat out of hell where the boys will quickly descend on the Playstation and forget about their question.

2) She can play dumb and go with "I don't know either" but she feels the boys will see right through her.

3) She could offer a real explanation -- after all, she's already had "the talk" with her older daughter -- but realizes that it may not be appropriate to educate someone else's son on the birds and the bees.

She goes with option 4 -- a quick, dismissive explanation that when men and women do lots of kissing in a movie, it's sometimes not appropriate for young boys.

The boys accept this and she's home free.

That is, until Monkey Boy sees me and MLB smooch the next time and he accuses us of having sex.

I can just see it coming.