Okay, I know the thrill, the hysteria really, of mentioning the unmentionables. Of scatalogical humour. I think it was pounded literally into my head by my brother’s bum when we were growing up: I cannot count the number of times he pinned me down to fart on my head. I get it, and I still laugh at potty jokes despite myself.
So I do empathize with Oliver’s current fascination with all things related to bums or genitalia, especially as material for comedy. The best jokes always relate somehow to the taboo. And Oliver is three, a time when body parts hitherto unexplored are suddenly irresistible. But there is a limit, and we are reaching it.
The other day, when informed that the day’s summer camp activities would involve going swimming at a public wading pool:
Oliver: “Who am I going with?”
Craig: “With your class and Miss Laura.”
Oliver: “Oh, you mean Miss Laura’s vagina? Miss Laura’s vagina will be taking me swimming?”
Craig: [Unsuccessful suppression of laughter, then …] “Uh, no. Miss Laura herself. We don’t talk like that about our teachers.”
Oliver: “About her vagina?”
Craig: “No. We don’t talk like that.”
Oliver [laughing hysterically]: “Vagina vagina vagina vagina!”
They were driving in the car. It was hot. The windows were down. At a stoplight, Craig pulled up beside another car driven by a young woman. Her windows were also down. You know what happened.
Oliver [leaning head out of window, and he’s LOUD]: “Vagina!”
Craig smiles sheepishly at the woman, who is thankfully laughing, as if to say, “Crazy kid … sorry about that … you know how it is.”
It’s amazing how long it can take, says Craig, to roll up your car windows. Seemingly a lifetime.
For more (as if you need more) on our v-word problem, see Blogthecat.