A mother is driving her little girl to her friend’s house for a play date.
“Mummy,” the little girl asks, “how old are you?”
“Honey, you’re not supposed to ask a lady her age,” the mother replies. “It’s not very polite.”
“Oh, okay,” the little girl says. “What colour was your hair two years ago?”
“Now really,” the mother says, “these are personal questions and aren’t any of your business.”
Undaunted, the little girl asks, “Why did you and Daddy get a divorce?”
“Honestly! That’s enough questions, please,” the mother says.
Exasperated, the mother walks away as the two friends begin to play.
“My Mum won’t tell me anything about herself,” the little girl says to her friend.
“Well, all you need to do is look at her driver’s licence,” the friend says. “It’s like our report cards, it has everything on it.”
Later that night, the little girl says to her mother, “I know how old you are. You are 32.”
The mother is surprised and asks, “How did you find that out?”
“I also know that you used to have brown hair.”
The mother is beyond surprised and shocked now. “How in Heaven’s name did you find that out?”
“And,” the little girl says triumphantly, “I also know why you and Daddy got a divorce.”
“Oh really!” the mother says. “Why?”
“It’s all on your driver’s licence and you got an ‘F’ in sex.”
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