Through the ajar bedroom door, three children spy their parents in the throes of passion. Quietly they retreat a few steps, and confer in whispers.
The youngest speaks out first, “Maybe they’re sick.”
“Naw,” says the second youngest, “looks like they’re ‘rasslin’.”
“You’re both wrong,” states the eldest, smug in his knowledge, “they’re makin’ babies.”
There is a pause.
“Working hard to keep the hospitals stocked,” deduces the second youngest.
Confused, the youngest says, “I thought Dad was a banker.”
The moral of the story is — make sure you lock the door when you have sex.