Picture this: I was picking up my kindergartner after school, and she couldn’t wait to share the day’s big revelation.”Mommy!” she chirped in the car. “Today we learned that boys are different from girls.”y grip on the steering wheel tightened as she continued — I had no clue where this was going to go.”My teacher said that boys have a ‘thing’ girls don’t.”

We finally made it home, with me still trying to figure out how I was going to answer any follow-up questions from my child.But after Mila kicked off her shoes, she proudly pulled out her art project: a crayon sketch of a turkey, tail feathers flared, snood dangling triumphantly.She glared when I burst out laughing at her “boy.” , to this day, Thanksgiving turkeys make me look twice.

A 17-year-old boy visits the drugstore before Thanksgiving.”I’m invited to my girlfriend’s for dinner, and maybe…” he hinted, winking at the pharmacist.The man slid a box of condoms over the counter.”Good call,” said the boy, grabbing a second box with a mischievous grin. “Her mom’s pretty attractive, too.”

Fast-forward to Thanksgiving.The girlfriend’s mom asks him to lead grace. The boy, palms sweating, launches into the longest prayer of his life. His girlfriend leans over.”I didn’t know you were so religious!” she whispers.He glances back, horrified.”I didn’t know your dad was the pharmacist