My mother and younger sister visited this weekend from Philadelphia. It was so nice to see them. My sister brought "Rushmore" for us to watch, and I forgot how much I love that movie. It's nearly perfect, and is there anyone better at playing broken men looking for redemption than Bill Murray? The answer is no, there is not. I didn't remember anything inappropriate about this movie (since I'd last seen it before I had children), so we were watching it while the kids were up and playing. And then the conversation between Max and the crazy Scottish kid about exactly why Max was expelled...uh oh. But it was OK...they were so wrapped up in their Legos that they didn't even hear it. Excellent.
5 minutes later:
Mom, what's a hand job?
Nothing sweetie. But don't say that. Especially at school.
But Mommy, HAND is not a bad word, and JOB is not a bad word, so why can't I say "hand job"?
(Damn you Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson...it's all fun and games until first graders start spouting off about hand jobs during recess.)
It's hard to explain sweetie...it's just that those two words together aren't very nice, so don't say it, OK?
wait for it...
Well Mom, is it a job you do with your hand, or is it like when you break your hand and the doctor has to fix it and he has to do a hand job? On your hand?
My mom and sister both leave the room at this poin, their faces are purple with restrained hysteria. Damn them, they brought the movie!
No sweetie, none of the above. Just trust me, don't say it. Promise me you won't say it.
OK, I won't.
No mention of hand jobs or any other kind of jobs for the rest of the weekend. I'm hoping he's forgotten it.