When I was little, my father refused to explain jokes to me and this was a source of enormous irritation. I still remember one which I puzzled over for years.
Boy: Whatâ€™s a feebly father?
Father: Thereâ€™s no such thing.
Boy: There is, I read it in a book.
Father: What does it say?
Boy: He had a feebly growing down on his chin.
The Princess is now interested in jokes but she hasnâ€™t the faintest clue how they work. Determined not to torture her as her grandfather did me, we tried to explain.
Me: Knock knock.
Mr. Waffle: Whoâ€™s there?
Me (thinking furiously): Ummm.
Him: Mr. Amnesia?
Her: Why is that funny?
Me: No, no, itâ€™s not, wait a minute whatâ€™s black and white and red all over?
Her (crossly): I donâ€™t know.
Him: Thatâ€™s more of a riddle really.
Me: Hissing noise.
Her (more crossly): I donâ€™t know.
Me: A newspaper. See, itâ€™s black and white and you read it all over, so itâ€™s read all over.
Her: I see, I see. Let me try.
Us (enthusiastically): Ok.
Her: Whatâ€™s yellow and doesnâ€™t have any pages?
Her (laughing): A cushion.
I am beginning to see real merit in my fatherâ€™s approach.