I am 45 years old. My husband is 46. I am an intelligent woman, my husband is an intelligent man. But we find poos, wees, bums and farts very, VERY funny. The merest mention of them can make us laugh. Even a reference to ‘number two’ in a completely non-poo related context can set us off.
One of us will start laughing. Generally, the less funny it is, the more funny it will seem. Then the other one will start laughing because it’s funny that the first one finds it funny. So we will laugh a bit more and a bit louder. We are laughing at the original reference to a poo, a wee, a bum or a fart, at each other and at ourselves. Before we know it, we are both in hysterics.
And our kids are just shaking their heads at us.
My daughter finds talk of poos, wees, bums and farts ‘disgusting’.
“Will you two stop being so disgusting!”
Then my younger son will pipe up.
“Oh God, are they being immature again?”
And of course being immature and the kids finding us disgusting is even funnier. Because we’re the parents and they’re the kids. And they should be laughing at poos, wees, bums and farts. And we should be the grown ups telling them not to be so silly and to stop laughing.
But we don’t. We’re too busy laughing at a passing mention of the phrase ‘number two’.
We spend our whole lives being mature and organised, looking after everyone and earning money. Sometimes it’s just nice to relax and laugh at poos, wees, bums and farts. Sometimes it’s nice to be immature.
Growing older is unavoidable. Growing up, not so much.