Now, being ever mindful of the legacies of empires long gone, it is His Imperial Majesty’s policy to arm his heirs against just about anything that might come their way.
Weapons training, judging characters, trust, subterfuge, reading between the lines, sarcasm, devastating put-downs with a smile on your face, that sort of thing.
But we may have reached a point where the student is becoming the master in at least some respects.
We were discussing how to properly deal with the less threatening, but no less preposterous, variant of the kiddy-diddler, the exhibitionist. Generally, that particular genus is not dangerous, they’re just in dire need of being weeded out of the gene pool on a permanent basis, but bopping them off tends to lead to tedious interactions with the constabulary, taking time that would be better spent in other ways.
So we were passing on a lesson that we ourselves had learned when we were their age, which is to simply study the appendage of the exhibitionist and, without expressing any emotion other than curiosity, saying “oh dear. It looks like a penis, only smaller.”
Only we didn’t get past the bit where we said “so you look at the perv’s thingy as if you’re studying an interesting insect, and then you say…” at which point our youngest heir interrupted and said:
“Is that an innie?”
Seriously, we can’t beat that. Those guys are going to be scary. In a GOOD way.