My four year old is developing a warped sense of humor. I know it’s to be expected, I mean she is the daughter of a woman who got the giggles at the funeral making plans for her father’s remains. (It was totally justified, though. The studied, sympathetic expression on that dude’s face was obviously the result of lots of practice in front of the mirror. The thought of him practicing different eyebrow angles in front of the mirror was, well, giggle inducing.)
Me Too has struggled a bit in the humor department. She doesn’t understand what others think is funny. A few months ago, I taught her this joke:
From that point until now she mistakenly believes that the punch line of each and every knock knock joke is “Bless you.” So when she tells a joke, it goes like this:
(Pause while she thinks of something.) Minnie Mouse.
Minnie Mouse who?
After about ten times, it does start to get kind of funny. This apparently reaffirms her belief in the “Bless you” punch line.
This week, though, Me Too has developed quite the little potty mouth. Every other word out of her little potty mouth is either “poo poo” or “pass gas.” (One of the advantages to living in a non-English environment is that I can pretty much control the kind of vocabulary they learn. Once they learn the f-a-r-t word, I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it.)
Me Too decided to ad lib some jokes for us during bath time tonight.
Mostly they went something like this:
“What is poo poo plus chewing gum?”(Looks expectedly at Mommy. Oh, I’m supposed to be thinking up the funny part?!)
“Pooing gum?” says Mommy. Hillarious laughter echoes off the tile.
Some of the jokes are just unsalvageable, though.
“What is poo poo plus three?”
“Hmmm. Well, um, I got nothin’,” I admit, then receive an absolutely withering look of disappointment from Sister.
“Three poo poos!” Brother chimes in. More hysterical laughter.
Sometimes my house is like living in the twilight zone. A poo poo filled twilight zone.