“PED XING” read the sign.
Our automobile ground to a halt before the massive strips of paint stretching across the roadway, two horizontal bars delineating right-of-way. Tiffany sat next to me in the passenger seat as we watched from the right, an older man with an 11-year old girl cross in front of us, followed by an even older man and a 8-year old girl, then from the left an absurdly ridiculously old man accompanied by an assortment of girls ranging in ages from 4 to fourteen.
As we drove on, the crossers having crossed, Tiffany’s expression of puzzlement fermented, bubbled, and boiled over.
“What is it child? Speak,” I said, “and let your wise Auntie Viv answer the question that so vexingly troubles your brilliant and curious young mind.”
“The sign said PED XING?” she queried.
“Yes,” I replied.
“And I saw the PEDophiles,” she continued.
“Yes,” I replied.
“But they didn’t seem to be doing anything rated X. X-ing would obviously be short for ‘SEX-ing’ or some other form of X-rated activity, but all they did was walk around a bit. Very disappointing. If they’re going to tease you on with a road sign that clearly indicates you’re going to see a bit of action, they should at least make sure someone is ready to put out first.”
“Silly girl,” I chuckled.
“They’re waiting for X-mas.”