It was a typical evening at the Johnson household as the family of four gathered around the dinner table.
The aroma of Mom’s famous meatloaf filled the air, but it was soon overshadowed by an uncomfortable silence after young Billy asked an unexpected question.
“Hey Dad, I was wondering…how many kinds of boobs are there?” Billy said inquisitively, having recently hit puberty.
Dad nearly choked on his iced tea, caught completely off guard. He shot a glance at his wife Karen, who simply raised an eyebrow, allowing him to take the lead.
Clearing his throat, Dad began:
“Well son, when it comes to a woman’s breasts, they go through three distinct phases over the course of her life.”
Billy leaned in, listening intently, while his 16-year-old sister Jessica rolled her eyes.
“In her 20s,” Dad continued, “a woman’s breasts are like melons – round, firm and perky.” He cupped his hands slightly to demonstrate the shape.
Karen couldn’t help but blush and smile at the nostalgic comparison.
“As she enters her 30s and 40s, they become more like pears,” Dad went on. “Still nicely shaped, but not quite as pert – hanging a bit more.”
Jessica stifled a laugh, struggling to keep a straight face.
Dad forged ahead. “And after 50, well…they take on more of an onion-like quality.”
“Onions?” Billy scrunched his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Looking slightly abashed, Dad said:
“You see son, when a woman gets to that age, her breasts…well, they just kind of make you cry a little.”
“Robert!” Karen gasped, swatting him playfully on the arm as the kids burst into laughter.
Once the chuckles subsided, Jessica piped up with her own question. “Okay then Mom, what about guys? How many kinds of…you know…willies are there?”
It was Karen’s turn to nearly choke. Throwing a look at her husband, she regained her composure and replied coyly, “Well dear, a man goes through phases as well when it comes to…that department.”
The two kids listened with rapt attention, scandalous grins across their faces.
“In his 20s,” Karen continued, “a man’s willy is like an oak tree – strong, mighty and rock hard.”
“Nice,” Jessica smirked, while Billy cringed slightly at the mention of anatomy.
Karen went on, “Then in his 30s and 40s, it becomes more like a birch tree – still upright and flexible, but not quite as forceful.”
Dad couldn’t help but hukmor her with a wink and a knowing smile.
“And after 50…” Karen’s voice trailed off momentarily:
“Well, after 50, I’d say it resembles more of a Christmas tree.”
Jessica and Billy exchanged a confused glance. “A Christmas tree?” Jessica asked. “How so?”
With a devilish grin, Karen concluded, “Yes, dead from the root up and the balls are just for decoration.”
