I could hear them giggling whiled they played in her room, and then I heard the inevitable crying that follows a bout of rough-housing. As I entered the bedroom to check, Princess Poop announced that her brother had hit her in the “peanuts”.
I asked her to show me where she was hurt, and she pointed to her nether regions stating again (in a condescending tone), “Here, Mom, on my peanuts.”
Taking great pains not to burst into laughter, I explained that she doesn’t have a penis, that only boys do, but that I understood that her private parts hurt, and then went on to tell both of them to be careful while they played.
That, of course, is when my son (who had obviously been the one to tell her about “peanuts”) said, “If she doesn’t have a penis, what does she have?”
“She has private parts”, I said.
“No Mom, what’s the real name?”
“Oh” he said turning to his sister, “you have a Virginia”.
So in addition to Sarah’s phantoms (we call them poofs), we have Peanuts and Virginias.
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