Your twelve-year-old daughter was sent to the principal's office for spraypainting a boy's body.
"It's what I dig," she says. "He was into it."
"I won't have you shame her," tell the principal.
The principal explains that while they do what they can to let sexuality blossom without any finger-wagging, your daughter's practices can be harmful. To the lungs.
"Sex is messy," your daughter shrugs.
The boy's parents are traveling in Europe for the year so there's nothing to worry about there.
"What's the problem here?" demand of the principal. "As far as I can see, my daughter and this boy were just experimenting with aerosol compounds. Just like I used to do when i was a kid, and I'm betting, like you used to as well Principal Harris."
Principal Harris will blush. That's the beginning.
She'll let your daughter go with a warning to use painter's masks from now on, which cost only pennies from any hardware store. In a week she'll call you again. You'll recognize the number, but she won't say anything when you pick up. You'll listen to each other breathe for a few seconds. Finally, you'll say "Where." She'll name a hotel and say, "45 minutes."
Happy Spraypaint Day!