That's what he said.

Went on the now-traditional annual Labor Day campout this weekend. A grand, if smoky, dirty and sort of disgusting, success. We rocked Millersylvania in the wilds about 10 miles south of the State Capital. Anyway, my grand-nephew Berkeley brought a friend -- a 12-year-old boy named Martin. Martin was a very nice kid. Too nice, as it turns out. See, my niece and Berkeley's mom, Delsa, kept getting after us for making dirty jokes in his presence. In our defense, these weren't "The Aristocrats" jokes. More along the lines of things like "get your hands off my wiener" while roasting dogs. (The semi-frozen wieners were a particular laugh-riot.) There was a bit of Michael Scott from The Office humor in the form of "That's what he said." or "That's what she said." The kind of stuff that most self-respecting 12-year-old boys would revel in.

Or so I thought.

After just one night of that he called his mom who drove down to pick him up bright and early in the morning. I didn't believe it at first. But it's true. My family sexually harrassed a 12-year-old boy with hard wiener jokes. Now, I know we are a little crude. But this is, I admit, a new low. Still, I have to think that if our kids grow up feeling like it's OK to make wiener jokes in front of us while camping, we've got a good shot that they'll feel like it's OK to talk to us about the stuff that really matters.

Which is really just a pathetic attempt to somehow justify saying "That's what she said" when somone complains that I put the tent pole in the wrong hole.