Sometimes You Just Don't Want To Know

TMI! TMI!

That stands for too much information. In fact, I said it to The Pony on Sunday, and he declared that I was not allowed to speak such an acronym. He's due to dismount from his high horse soon. I informed him that I was TMI-ing before he ever kicked up his heels in the paddock. Sweet Gummi Mary! You'd think I said redonkulous, or even I got dis, both of which I'm also forbidden to say. But this TMI has nothing to do with The Pony. I hope.

As the pupils were exiting my work lair yesterday afternoon, I caught on to the tail of a conversation. A little group had been talking about one guy's new girlfriend. In the boisterous, braggadocio manner of fourteen-year-old males, the boyfriend asked another, "You mean you never even kissed a girl?"

"Nope. But did you see how I kept looking at Lily at the dance? She almost came over and talked to me!"

"Dude. You've got to let it build up."

"Build up? I guess you mean confidence?"

"Yeah. Confidence. I've kissed TWO kinds of lips."

Without missing a beat, another kid said, "Yeah. Girl lips AND boy lips."

Not that there's anything wrong with that.