A particularly funny incident I remember relates back to when I was a young child—probably between 9 and 11 years old, living in West Covina, California, with my parents.

In this ranch style house, there was a counter at which there were swiveling bar stools. Being a young child with mischievous tendencies, because the chairs swiveled, I had to swivel on one of them incessantly.

This began to great on my mother's nerves, understandably. She repeatedly asked me to stop, and being the mischievous youngster I was, I persisted in swiveling and grating on her nerves.

Finally, in a moment of frustration, she called out to me, "Oy, swivel tuchis!"

This stopped me dead in my tracks, but only for a while, after which I resumed swiveling. She ignored it for a time, then finally intoned on a broken descending triad, "Swivel Ass!"

You can't make these things up. The two of us used to laugh about this incident through the years.