The difference between boys and girls is a lot of difference.
They're just different breeds.
They think differently.
Some may say boys don't think at all.
I think they do, but search me if I know what it is they think about. Not health food, hygiene, or manners, certainly.
I've collected a couple of examples for you, just from my house (and lest we forget, I have been Mom to seven teenage boys as well, so I know whereof I speak):
Cora's first drawing was of a stick horse. Anna's was of two stick people (me and her). Gianni's was a stick person too! I asked what the stick boy was doing. He's peeing on the ground. Ah. But of course. Logical.
Girls eat their food like human beings. Boys eat into the shape of a gun and then blow your head off.
Girls have a buddy system whenever they go to the little girl's room. Well, my boy doesn't give me any privacy either, but once he got bored waiting for me to empty my bladder. Finally, he exclaimed, this would go a lot faster if you had a hot dog!* Sorry to keep you, twerp; don't you have a piece of toast that would make a nice Glock?
When girls fall down and hurt themselves, they cry. Boys get up and punch whatever tripped them and yell, "stupid table!"
Girls play My Little Ponies and Littlest Pet Shops. Boys play kill shots and practice their own death scenes one million times a day. Gianni has his down to an art form. There's twitching, leg spasms, gasping for air, foaming at the mouth, protruding tongues (well, tongue), and final words of wisdom (such as "My cousin Herb drives a bus almost everyday!" If you don't know the pigeon books, this won't make any sense to you. If you do own the pigeon books, this won't make any sense to you).
Girls like to snuggle and hug and kiss and hold hands and pat your head and stroke your hair and scratch your back. This is my night time conversation with Moose a few days ago:
Me: goodnight! sleep tight! don't let the bed bugs bite! i love you to the moon and back! smoochy smoochy my sweet babykins!
Him: stop kissing me, it's gross.
Me: I'll kiss you whenever I want, mister! now give me some more! (attack him with my full body weight and plant a big wet one on him).
Him: STOP IT! I'm wiping this off!
Me: You can't wipe off Mother's kisses. It's impossible. They don't wipe off for 100 years.
Him: WHAT???? That's not funny!
Me: Sorry, dude. There's nothing I can do.
Him: I'm shooting it off with my laser beam!
Him: My sniper battleship is shooting torpedoes at it!
Me: Negative, ghost rider.
At this point, he is choking back tears.
Him, weakly: I put a force field around it.
Me: My kisses can get through your force field, chikadee.
Him: I really hate bedtime.
* I'm not a anatomically correct kind of parent. I use baby talk. Even in a room full of adults.