A family is sitting around the dinner table when the son suddenly asks his father:
“Dad, how many kinds of boobs are there?”
The dad nearly chokes on his mashed potatoes, but after a moment he clears his throat and answers:
“Well, son, that’s… a good question. You see, women go through three phases in life.
In their 20s, a woman’s breasts are like melons—round, full, and firm.
In their 30s and 40s, they’re more like pears—still nice, but hanging a little lower.
And after 50… well, they’re like onions.”
The son squints. “Onions? What do you mean by onions?”
Dad sighs. “You see them… and they make you cry.”
The table goes silent. His wife shoots him the look. His daughter glares at him like she’s about to flip the table.
The daughter smirks and says, “Alright then, Dad. If we’re talking biology, how many kinds of willies are there?”
The mother puts down her fork, smiles sweetly, and says:
“Well, dear, men also go through three phases.
In their 20s, a man’s willy is like an oak tree—mighty and hard.
In his 30s and 40s, it’s like a birch—flexible, dependable, and not bad at all.
And after his 50s… it’s like a Christmas tree.”
The daughter frowns. “A Christmas tree? What does that mean?”
The mother leans in and says:
“Yes, dead from the root up… and the balls are just for decoration.”
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