Once upon a time, David Letterman was doing a joke about something he saw on QVC, involving swan-shaped candleholders, and he either showed a video clip of or recounted the QVC presenter saying, "Now, let's measure our swan candleholders." David made the supposition that those words probably had never been uttered in sequence EVER IN THE ENGLISH (or any other) LANGUAGE.
Good point. And a concept that stuck with me ever since.
As the mother of two boys, I occasionally find myself stringing together words that no rational human being would ever connect. My all-time favorite: "We don't pants our brother in a restaurant." REALLY? Like pants-ing someone - related or otherwise - in, like, the teller line at the bank is okay? I think my point was that, if we are going to pants each other (and, let's be realistic, PANTS-ING IS GOING TO HAPPEN), that sort of activity should be conducted in the privacy of our own home.
The funny part about the pants-ing comment was that it was uttered at a pizza joint across from Texas Christian University, where only two other tables were occupied. At one table: a largish group of male students from the high school that our children will attend. At the other table: an even larger group of slightly older males, all sporting the identifying marks of a fraternity to which our children have familial affiliations. As we ate our dinner, I was only halfway monitoring my children, because I was too busy watching my life flash before my eyes: the kids at Table #1 were the same age that Little Kid would be when Big Kid was sitting at Table #2. It was quite the nice preview.
I guess for every flash-forward, there is an offsetting flashback: when I made my situational no-pants-ing declaration, several of the other patrons heard me. All of these boys had once been my boys' ages, and the same knowing grin snuck onto all of their faces. (One of the frat boys took particular note of what was going on - probably was marking my pranking boys as future pledge material.)
The most recent addition to the "swan candleholder, Boy Mom edition" list:
"No, you may not have my broom handle, because I am using the broom. I'm sure you can find yourself another weapon. Be creative."
Explanation (like you need one?): the Little Kid wanted the broom handle to use as a bo staff. Probably on account of how I have hidden his broadsword. (Not necessarily because I was trying to keep it from him - as is evidenced by his request for the broom handle, the kid knows how to improvise, so what's the point? No, I stowed it under the bed one day when he had been using it in more-annoying-than-average fashion, and when one of the eight million remotes in our bedroom fell through the crack between the bed and the headboard and out of reach, I saw the sword under there, and I was able to grab the hilt, leverage it up through the crack and recover the remote by swiping the sword at it until it popped out the side. Since then, the sword has been in the custody and service of the Queen.)