If I had 12 fingers, I might get a few stares. Carrying a dozen roses might garner some attention. If I brought a dozen chocolate éclairs to work I might gain some new friends. So what does a dozen children get me?
Silly questions.
Not just silly, but oh-so-predictable. Common. Not as clever as the self-congratulatory jokesters may think. Actually, some comments aren't silly at all; sincere people are just curious. That's great! But after all these years, the questions still come frequently enough that pat responses roll off my tongue without a thought. Among them:
Q. "Have you figured out yet what causes that?"
A. "No. Please tell me."
Q. "Are you Catholic?"
A. "No, but my wife is a saint."
Q. "Are they all yours?"
A. "No, we share them equally."
Q. "Are you a blended family?"
A. "No, they all came wrapped individually."
Q. "How many boys and girls?"
A. "12."
Q. "Can you name them?"
A. "We already did."
And the most brazen question I've heard:
Q. "By how many different women?"
A. "Just one different woman -- very different."
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