Alexis has learned her first punchline. She doesn't know the joke, just the punchline.

Chicken butt.

She missed the part where someone is supposed to say, "Guess what?" before she starts discusses poultry derrieres. She just randomly says, "Chicken butt."

What does Alexis want for dinner? Chicken butt.

What does she think we should get Daddy for Christmas? Chicken butt.

What game should we play? Chicken butt.

As charming and hilarious as that all may seem, the never-ending mentions of chicken butt and subsequent cackles started to get on my nerves around the 4,000th repetition. So, yesterday I figured I would tackle the annoyingness head-on, instead of ignoring it like I had previously strategized.

I suggested that Alexis start leading a double life between home and school early, so as to be an overachiever who knows to change clothes in the Kindergarten bathroom, but with a little, "But don't think I don't know about it" twist. I said, "Alexis, chicken butt is only funny at school." After all, surely it was a punk-ass little boy in the preschool class that taught it to her. I don't have to KNOW to KNOW, you know?

She tried to argue my point initially, but my stone-faced insistence that "Chicken butt is only funny at school" eventually sunk into her little head. Not one to give up easily, she started asking questions.

"Momma, is chicken pee funny?"

"Is chicken face funny?"

"Is chicken poop funny?"

"Is chicken boobies funny?"

I may go to hell for lying and telling her "No."