My six- and eight-year-old sons have discovered “sexing”. A typical exchange involves a sighting of someone “sexing” in public: “Did you see those people sexing at the bus stop? Gross.” Cue general hilarity and snorts of disgust. Once I caught them typing “sexing” into a search engine. Thank Google for filters.
I’ve even been accused of “sexing” myself. “You sexed big time twice,” my eight-year-old announced smugly. So much for their fantasies of a virgin birth – although they seem pretty sure I only “sexed” for the sole purpose of bringing them into the world.
Children love the idea that they harbour secret knowledge of the strange world of adults. They enjoy making us squirm. It is understandable when you spend most of your time being told what to do by people bigger than you, whose priorities have little to do with your own.