Dinner Anyone?

Tonight the kids and I met our next door neighbors. Alex zoomed between our two yards and made grass angels in their perfectly manicured lawn, and Kylie sputtered a steady stream of random facts. One of them was, "Our family has lots of funny stories." Then she cupped her hand around her mouth and tilted her head toward neighbor Amy's face as if she were about to tell a secret, and I gave the sweet girl a look my friend Leigh calls "the hairy eyeball." I'm sure we were charming.
For the past few nights my kids have been begging for us to tell them funny stories over dinner, and we oblige. Now, these are not patient children, and if you take too long to think of a story, they start to get pushy, so you have to pull from the first available funny thoughts that come to mind. In this house, that usually entails a specific bodily function, and I know you know what I mean. Only I guess we forgot to have the children sign a confidentiality agreement.
You see why the hairy eyeball, right?
I could just see Kylie telling our newly met new neighbor about the time Alex ate her poop when he was a baby and she was a toddler. Or the time when another set of new neighbors called the police on Ryan for trying to break into their house when he was slightly disoriented by the urgent need to go. Or the time Kylie pooped in her crib, or Alex in the bath (more times than I care to remember really), or any one of them onto either of Ryan or me via too-full-exploding diaper, naughtily-removed-diaper, not-quite-fastened-fast-enough-diaper, or toddler-hand-in-the-dirty-diaper.
Yes, we are indeed so evolved that we may all sit together and enjoy a meal while not even needing to stifle a gag reflex over a heartily told poop story at the table. In fact, family dinners have never been more peaceful or enjoyable.
Bust, seriously, the neighbors don't need to know just yet.