My daughter Clara, age 8, was sitting at the neighbor’s dining room table with about half a dozen other kids, eating a birthday cake that was originally shaped and frosted to look like a penguin.
Between bites, she turned to the little girl beside her and asked, “Do you want to know how penguins mate?”
My eyes widened. I looked across the table at the other adult at the table. Her eyes were wide, too.
Clara said, “The male penguin goes out, and if the female penguin takes it, it’s kind of like they’re married.”
If the male penguin goes out? If the female penguin takes it?
I didn’t ask. I don’t want to know.
