Yesterday Leta had a play date, and while she and her friend were snacking in the kitchen I was in an adjacent room sorting through some mail. I heard them start to tell each other knock knock jokes, the ones that have been passed down for generations, like the one about the banana, and then orange you glad I didn’t say banana?! Except since they’re both six, and since Leta is Leta, the delivery was a bit bumpy.
Friend: “Knock knock.”
Leta: “Who’s there?”
Leta: “Yuck, stop, I hate bananas.”
Someone needs to come up with a knock knock joke about chicken nuggets, apparently.
Three or four jokes in I couldn’t help myself, so I charged in and said, “I’ve got one! I’ve got one!” And since they were both in need of new material they eagerly welcomed me into their exchange. Well, the friend was eager. Leta eyed me suspiciously. I mean, seriously? Mom has a joke? Mom couldn’t tell a good bedtime story if her life depended on it, so this should be interesting IF NOT WHOLLY MORTIFYING.
So I said, “Knock knock.”
And they both asked, “Who’s there?”
And I go, “MY BUTT!!”
And then I slapped my knee and giggled to indicate that there was no more to the joke. That joke always ends there. A little history if you need a refresher.
And you guys, her friend started laughing so hard she almost fell out of her chair! HA! HA HA! That’s when I did a little circular dance and finally ended up down on one knee, my arms straight in the air to indicate VICTORY!
My butt, it has won.
Her friend was still laughing hysterically when Leta tried to explain dryly, “That is her answer to everything. And it still isn’t funny.”
Maybe so! But now I have an inside ally!