Parental humor

I admit it.
My mind hangs out in the gutter more than I care to admit.
But there are some things that, no matter how hard I try to take the high road, I land smack in the gutter once more, squealing like a pig.
For the holiday, each heathen got a talking Toy Story 3 toy. Bug got Buzz, Punk got Jesse, and Boo got . . .Woody.
Even just typing it there I snickered.
I know somewhere in the minds of the Disney execs they had to realize the snickers and guffaws and innuendo that would result from naming a doll . . .Woody.
I think they did it, just like the phalic shaped homes on the cover of Little Mermaid DVD's in the 90's, to amuse us dirty minded parents.
But that's just me.
On to the teen age hilarity.
The day after Christmas, I drove to four different stores trying to replace my son's broken Woody.
*snicker*
My husband has to routinely ask my son where he put his Woody.
*snicker*
Boo will tell us daily he doesn't know what he did with his Woody.
*snicker*
Punk has announced she's going to play with Woody. And then she kissed it. (The doll!)
I fell over laughing. The Man, not so much.)
We have have had runaway Woody's, misplaced Woody's, cold Woody's, hot Woody's, hidden Woody's, flying Woody's, squished Woody's, etc.
All while The Man and I are biting back laughter like the mature parental role models we are.
All because of Woody.