I walk into the room as Eunjoo and Lisa are working on their new project. Some children's literature propeganda about a master race of banana. My wife told me the story, but I didn't really follow it. She either thinks it is wonderful that all bananas are Cavendish these days, or she thinks more diversity would be healthy.

I walk up behind Lisa, as she sits beside my wife on the couch, to see what she is doing.

Eunjoo has enlisted Lisa to draw the pictures for her, and Lisa is sketching them up on the iPad.

"It's a banana," my wife explains.

To me though, it really looks like a penis.

My wife sees me looking at it– sees the conflict on my face as I struggle with the implications of my next comment to a nine year girl drawing bananas.

Eunjoo punches me on the shoulder with a laugh and repeats, "It's a banana!"

Point made, I guess, no need to comment.