Manners

Let me take a moment to present you with three children, all beautifully trained in the very important area of social norms/manners:

Child #1: I was having a pleasant little conversation with dear little Z when he suddenly jabbed his finger into my left breast* and sputtered, "WHAT is THAT?"
"That is my boob, little punk."
His other finger was then stuck into my right breast, and Z shook his head some, and said, "What is THAT?"
"That is my other boob, son."
He nodded, as if he understood, and said, "Two boobs, mama? Two BIG boobs?"
I guess he hasn't had the pleasure of noticing my left OR right boob, because the things have been shrunk to almost nothingness for most of his lifetime; only to kindly return with this pregnancy; only to give my dear son something to rudely point out (and at) in mid-conversation.

*Do women actually have a left and right breast, or is that portion of the body always referred to in plural, as in "He poked at my breasts"? hahahaaha!

Child #2:
At church with a most proper man who prefers to be called Mr. Goldwell.*
B: (Pointing), "Who are YOU?" (What is it with the finger-poking and pointing?!)
MG: "You can call me Mr. Goldwell." (no smiles)
B: "How 'bout poop?"
MG: "You are B, aren't you?"
B: "Yes, and you are poop!"
Me: "B, we don't say that. That isn't nice to say to people."
B: "Why, mama?"
And I just had to pull him quickly away, because B knows very well that they say poop all the time, about everything at home. And we haven't seen it as a big deal. Poop head. Poop butt. Poop plate. Poop everything. It's a boy thing, right? Don't boys just love to talk about poop and farts? Or just my boys?
Talking about poop (or inserting the word poop into every unrelated conversation) is one of those things, like wrestling, that is fine at home....until it is carried outside of our front door. One should never call Mr. G "Poop", nor should one kick-box the floral-covered bottom of the elderly pianist while she is practicing for the Sunday morning service. (I guess I should be glad it wasn't during the Sunday morning service!)

Child #3:
This child is so obsessed with doing things as they are supposed to be done. She wants to be a good girl. She wants to follow the rules. She wants to make her bed, and she wants to pick up her toys before leaving her room.
So, what is S's ultimate insult? Apparently, it is this:
(Cough, cough.) "Z, I am MAD at you. I am mad! I coughed on you! And I didn't even cover my mouth!"
Oh! The outrage! A cough! With no cover! How will Z ever forgive you!? How could he ever feel good about himself agan!? A cough. With no cover! Oh my!