I e-mailed a funny to my Mom today, to which she responded:
“It reminded me of the move to Wisconsin when you asked [your father] to smell your armpits because [your brother] kept telling you they smelled.”
Thankfully I don’t recall that.
A few weeks ago, my Mom also shared this gem with me:
“I was reading an article about the do-do bird, now extinct. Through evolutionary processes it had become a flightless bird on this one island near Madagascar, and the more it walked rather than flying, the more rounded and large its rump became. Some Dutch explorers named it when they called it dodo-aersen which translates “fat ass.” I thought this was hilarious because when you were a baby and couldn’t quite manage to say afghan when you wanted your baby blanket, you said (and I used to think of it being spelled this way) “aersen.” Now I am just impressed at what a precocious potty mouth you were. :-)”
The only logical conclusion to draw from these charming parental tidbits is that even as I child, I was overflowing with majesty and refinement.