Little Timmy, a cherubic six-year-old with a mop of unruly brown hair, bounced on his heels. His Grandma Rose, a woman whose smile lines rivaled the Grand Canyon, was visiting. “Grandma,” Timmy announced, eyes wide, “I learned about sex ed today!”
Grandma Rose, mid-sip of tea, nearly choked. She swallowed hard, her eyes widening in a mixture of amusement and terror. “Oh really, Timmy? What did you learn?” she asked, her voice a careful whisper.
Timmy, completely oblivious to the impending chaos, beamed. “Well,” he declared, “Mrs. Higgins said that boys and girls… um… make babies! And she showed us a picture of a… a… a really big carrot!”
Grandma Rose blinked. A big carrot? She tried to keep a straight face. “Oh, yes,” she replied, struggling to maintain composure. “A very… large carrot indeed. Very important for… uh… growing things.”
Timmy nodded sagely. “And then,” he continued, “she said that if you don’t wash your hands after you… uh… use the big carrot… you can get sick!”
Grandma Rose sputtered, tea spraying from her mouth. She wiped her chin, trying to regain her dignity. “Well, Timmy,” she said, finally regaining her composure, “That’s… certainly one way to put it.”
Timmy, satisfied with his explanation, skipped off to play. Grandma Rose, however, sat in stunned silence for a good ten minutes. She finally managed a weak chuckle. Apparently, Mrs. Higgins’ sex education class involved an unusually large, and frankly alarming, vegetable. The image of a room full of six-year-olds being lectured on the importance of handwashing after handling enormous carrots was enough to make her laugh until her sides ached.
