One day, a magazine sent a journalist to interview a woman at her home. As they sat down, he glanced around the room filled with energetic boys and asked,
“So, what are their names?”
“Johnnie,” she replied.
He raised an eyebrow and pointed to a blond boy playing nearby. “And him?”
“Johnnie,” she said again.
“The tall one with freckles?”
“Johnnie.”
“The little chubby one with the baseball cap?”
“Johnnie.”
The journalist blinked in confusion. “Wait… are all your boys named Johnnie? Isn’t that incredibly confusing?”
“Not at all,” she smiled. “It actually makes things much easier.”
“Easier? How so?” he asked, bewildered.
“Well,” she said, “when I call out, ‘Johnnie, tea’s ready!’—they all come running. When I say, ‘Johnnie, bedtime!’—they all go to bed. Simple.”
The journalist chuckled. “Alright, but what if you want just one of them?”
She leaned in with a knowing grin. “Oh, that’s easy. Then I call them by their last names.”
