"What jobs are there in the universe?" my son enquired from the bathtub.
"The universe? Oh, do you mean the university?" Jamie's explanation to my visiting mother-in-law over dinner of the different years of his primary school ("...and then there's Year 3 and then Year 4 and Year 5 and Year 6. So you're at [schoolname] for a long time") had led on to my mention that secondary school happened after that, and thence to Jamie asking, once we were upstairs for bathtime, about whether there was any more school after that and my explanation of the various options available post-school. "University isn't a job - you do jobs after you finish. Or you can do jobs instead of going to university."
"No, but what jobs are there in the university?" Jamie struggled to get his point across.
"Do you mean, what jobs do you need university to do?" Interpreting a Jamie conversation can require a certain degree of lateral thinking. "Well, lots of different ones. For example, I learnt about how to be a doctor. That's called medical school"
"What did you recognise at medical school?"
"Do you mean, what did I learn?" This translation appeared to be correct. "Lots of things. I had to learn about all the different parts of the human body - do you remember that anatomy book I showed you this morning?" (I do not, I should probably point out, make a habit of showing my son anatomy books. This had been in response to last night's bathtime query, which was about what the thing on his back was. Since it was in fact a prominent shoulder blade, I thought he might be interested in looking at some pictures, and had hauled my good old Grant's Anatomy out to look up pictures of scapulae to show him.) "I had to learn about all the bits in that. All the bones in the body, all the muscles, all the..." (I realised he wouldn't know the word 'organs') "...all the different bits. And..."
"Did you learn about these bits?" Jamie indicated the bits in question.
"Testicles? Yes, I had to learn about those as well."
"What colour are they?"
"Um, pink, I think." Testicular colour had not, in fact, been on the curriculum at medical school, as far as I could recall. I wished he'd asked me about possible causes of testicular pain or swelling, which I'd have felt much better equipped to answer.
"I want to know," Jamie explained, "so that if anyone asks me what colour my, um, tentacles are, I can tell them."
I am all in favour of being prepared for all possible conversational as well as other eventualities, but did feel able to reassure him that I was 99.999999% sure that nobody was ever going to ask him what colour his testicles were. However, out of interest, I did ask about it on the urology forum of the medical website where I ask all my medical questions and in reply got three rather good jokes, one related Amusing Child Anecdote, one photo, one groan from a doctor who'd been looking at the photo when his daughter came in and demanded to know what those were, some interesting information on the different colours they turn in pathological situations, and the actual answer. Which is, just in case anyone ever asks you what colour your testicles are, grey and white with a white membrane round the outside. So glad to have been able to help; I always wanted to contribute to increasing the world's store of general knowledge, although it is fair to say that this is not quite what I had in mind.