I’m a teacher, so I obviously like kids. But, like most teachers, and many humans in general, I like my kids in a specific context. For example, if you’re my student and we’re in school, I like you. If you’re my student and it’s the weekend, no. If you came out of my sister’s uterus, no matter where we are and what you’re doing— love. If you’re from anyone else’s uterus and coughing on me in a confined space— hate.

So see, there are rules.

One context that never fares well for me and children is on airplanes. I have a bit of travel anxiety (picture Kristen Wigg in Bridesmaids, but with less of a scene and more drugs.)

And yet, I inevitably always end up sitting next to a kid. Yesterday’s  flight back from Mexico was no exception.

The kid was seated in the middle, I was aisle, and Dad was window, reading his iPad and showing no indication that he even knew, much less liked, his child.  So, as children will do when they sense their parent wants nothing to do with them, the kid started in with the “look at me!” behavior.  First, he pointed to the window.

Kid: “What’s that?”
Dad (mindlessly, without looking up): “The window”
Kid: “What’s that?”
Dad: “Air conditioning.”
Kid: “What’s that?”
Dad: “A seat belt.”
Kid: “What’s that?”
Dad: “An arm rest.”

At this point you’re probably thinking, “Awww, that’s just what toddlers DO!”

This kid was at least 7.

It was intolerable. But the “what’s that’s” escalated, and with them, my anxiety levels. At a certain point, I gave up on trying to read my kindle and shut my eyes tight, wishing I was anywhere but there.

Kid: “What’s that?”
Dad: “That lady’s kindle”
Kid: “What’s that?”
Dad: “Her kindle cover”
Kid: “What’s that?”
Dad: “Words on the kindle”
Kid: “What’s that?”
Dad: “More words on the—“

And then Dad stopped talking and, flustered, said, “Ok, this game is over. Here, play with my iPad.”

The kid was silent. Praise Jesus.

I opened my eyes and looked down at my kindle. When I had closed my eyes, unbeknownst to me I had rested my hand on the kindle’s surface and inadvertently increased the font size tenfold. On the screen was this:

I guess there were limits on what Dad was willing to name and label.

So thank you, Sarah Silverman. Your foul mouth bought me 15 minutes of blissful, peaceful silence on a packed airplane over the Gulf of Mexico. I’m sure that wasn’t your specific intent when writing those words, but I can’t help but think you’d be pleased with this subsequent outcome.

On a related note, I have a whole new respect for the word cunt.