It Must Be the Y Chromosome

I’m beginning to think there is truth behind the statement “it’s a guy thing” as applied to certain antics.

I was hacking away at the keyboard when the Midget approached.

“Hey Dad, smell this!” He thrusts a small plastic coin, a gold doubloon from a pirate set he got for Christmas, in my face.

Oblivious to the conversation he just had with his mother, I give it a tentative sniff. There doesn’t seem to be anything odd about it, it’s just plastic. Then a realization crawls its way to the fore of my brain.

“Where has it been?” I ask, not entirely sure I want to know. Everything in the room from the dog’s mouth to the Squirt’s diaper comes into alarming focus.

The Midget gives a sly smile, and points to his crotch.

The Wife laughed her ass off. I must have given him a completely dumbfounded look, because he clarifies:

“In my underwear!”

I can claim passing on a lot of bad habits to the kids, but I can’t remember dropping the lesser cousin of the Stinkpalm on them. Nor do I have any family who would teach them, and those friends who may come up with it are scattered across the country. So I can only surmise he came up with it on his own.

And there you have it:

It’s a guy thing.