I confess, I haven't stayed tuned to the Monica-and-Bill Show.

When you are rowing in shark-infested waters in the middle of your dining room, it is tough to keep track of affairs of state.

Our daughters, Becca and Bailey, have a vivid imagination.

They lined up our dining-room chairs in the first-floor hallway the other day so they could pretend they were riding a train.

At age 6, Becca's the conductor for these journeys, which don't follow a set itinerary.

They soon tired of the train and hopped a ride on a boat. Of course, they first had to derail the four-chair train so they could use the chairs to make a boat.

They shoved the chairs together, one pair facing the other in the dining room. Then, they piled on blankets, purses, books, buddy bears and anything else in reach.

Eventually, I pulled up a chair and climbed on board. I didn't want to miss the fun of floating around in shark-infested waters.

Every now and then, Becca would point out the backpacks on the floor that had suddenly been transformed into hungry sharks.

Before long, we were all singing "row, row, row your boat." But in their minds, we weren't heading gently down the stream.

There's nothing like a little ocean cruise to get you ready for a good night's sleep.

It's a lot more fun than listening to the latest White House scandal. Besides, it would be difficult to explain this latest mess to my children.

They understand sharks. They don't have a clue about the birds and the bees.

But Robin Wyshak knows all about the birds and the bees. The California woman also knows that true confessions can be good for your pocketbook.

For six years in the 1980s, she lived next to Monica Lewinsky and her family in Beverly Hills, Calif.

Since the White House sex scandal surfaced, Wyshak has been talking to the tabloids, selling her less-than-exciting story for cash.

She has told her rich-kid story to the National Enquirer and every pay-TV show she can find.

I don't like all this checkbook journalism.

It seems to me that these so-called news organizations should know when to say no.

This whole situation reminds me of a children's verse that Becca is fond of telling me.

It's what the troll says to Billy Goat Gruff when the goat asks to cross the bridge.

"If you don't pay a dime, if you don't pay a nickel, I'll eat you up like a crunchy, crunchy pickle."

Becca recited the verse over and over again one evening. Joni and I couldn't help but smile at such sentiment.

It's nice to know that your children aren't at a loss for words, even when your dining room is filled with imaginary sharks.

As for those two-legged sharks, I'm at a loss for words. They could nickel and dime you to death.

~Mark Bliss is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.