(My 4-year-old niece sometimes babysits for her cousin’s guinea-pigs—Marshmallow and Chocolate. She is very fond of them. Unfortunately, both Marshmallow and Chocolate were eaten by a hungry native python whilst outside in their cage. It was up to my sister-in-law to gently break the bad news to my little niece.)

Sister-in-law: “Darling, you know Marshmallow and Chocolate?”

Niece: “Yes?”

Sister-in-law: “Well, something happened to them. I’m very sorry darling, but a snake got into their cage, and now they’re gone.”

(She waits, expecting tears, questions about death, maybe even a bit of anger at the snake.)

Niece: *after a long pause, frowning* “A snake ate Marshmallow and Chocolate for dinner?”

Sister-in-law: *still bracing for the upset* “Yes.”

Niece: “Oh.” *she looks thoughtful for a few moments, then asks happily* “What are we having for dinner?”

(During our birthday month, my boyfriend and I always get to choose a movie that we want to see and the other cannot complain about it. We’re laying in bed after coming home from watching the chick flick I chose.)

Boyfriend: “That movie was absurd.”

Me: “No, it was romantic.”

Boyfriend: “It was cheesy.”

Me: “A little, but it was cute. You should be romantic more often. Maybe compliment me more?”

Boyfriend: “Honey, you’re so beautiful I can’t even poop.”

Me: “Forget it… you’ll never learn.”

(There’s a commercial on TV for the Land Rover. It opens with the line ‘It was conceived on a beach in 1947’.)

Me: “Eww! I’d hate to know where I was conceived.”

Dad: “What are you talking about? You were conceived twenty feet from here.”

Me: “Ah! I don’t want to know that! Twenty feet?!”

Dad: “Well, give or take six inches.”

Wife: “There’s a name for small breasts?”

Me: “Sure. Tittles!”

Son: *from the next room* “Taste the rainbow!”

(It was five minutes before my wife could breathe properly, she was laughing so hard.)

(My young daughter is fully toilet trained for Number Ones, and doing pretty well with Number Twos.)

Daughter: “I got poo on my finger!”

Me: “Uh-oh, how did you get poo on your finger?”

Daughter: “I was trying to scratch my foot.”

(A pause.)

Daughter: “There’s some on the floor, too.”