One of the pleasures of having children around is the almost endless number of vicarious experiences they supply to the world-weary adult. Just by living with them, you are daily reminded that life is ever renewing itself, and that one generation’s been-there-done-that is the next generation’s thrill-to-come. Eventually children learn what’s expected of them; how to be cool; how things work. For a while, though, the world is a source of surprise, repugnance, and hilarity.

The other day, for instance, I happened while folding laundry to overhear a conversation in the next room. It took me a few minutes to puzzle out its subject: