Friday, July 1, 2011
A disclaimer. This post is about unintentional swearing. The swears have been changed to protect the innocent. But if you are a big fat baby and easily offended, f*cking forgive me.
I spent a few days out of town this week and had a flight home in which the pilot said over the intercom, “It could’ve been worse…” Worse being a fiery crash.
But I did manage to arrive home just before Luca’s bedtime. Diana handed him over and walked hopefully not out of the house forever. I dumped Luca onto the changing table and he looked at me ever so sweetly and said…
I said, “Uh, come again?”
“I’ll admit I’m no Rhodes Scholar, but let’s not stoop to name calling.”
“Dumb f*ck!” He was getting louder.
“Alright. Take it easy. You can’t speak to me like that.”
“Are you repeating something your mother said about me? I can’t be expected to remember to empty the dishwasher every day.”
“That’s it. We’re in a fight.”
I plopped him on the ground and slumped into the rocking chair, way more put out that I should have been.
“You know what? You’re the dumb f*ck! That’s right. What are you going to do about it?”
Luca was holding out his newest favorite book entitled, “Baby’s First Dump Truck Board Book.”
I put him on my lap and said, “I’m a dumb f*ck.”