The boys played outside today in the snow and came back in with pink cheeks and cold noses and demanded hot cocoa. I refuse to go out into the snow until I get a decent pair of boots on account of my perpetually cold feet. The boys don’t understand this. They do not get why I do not also think that making snow angels and building forts and throwing snowballs is the cat’s behind.
As they sipped their hot cocoa at the table, I was showing John a part of a movie I watched last night. The scene had kids in it, so I thought it was safe to watch when OUR kids were nearby. Unfortunately, I forgot about one particular conversation and before we could do anything about it, the male lead character was shouting expletives. He said something along the lines of “you mother effing b#@ch.” Twice, I think.
We quickly turned it off. John gave me his “intense look” and said I would have strongly chastised him if he had put such inappropriate material on the boob tube whilst the children were awake.
I pleaded ignorance. Erstwhile, we heard secretive whispering from the other room.
“What word?” said Ben.
“I’m not going to say it. It’s a very bad word,” Caleb said.
I called Caleb over.
I asked him what word he was talking about. He opened his eyes wide and shook his head. He is an incredibly decent individual and is polite and thoughtful and would NEVER say a bad word.
I assured him he would not get in trouble. I just wanted to know what the word was so I could explain it to him, if necessary.
“You know. What that guy said in that movie.”
“You can tell me. What did he say?”
“You know. The word after he said funking.” Funking?
I probed him further. John sighed, exasperated.
“He means b#@ch, Holly.”
Caleb’s eyes widened and he nodded. Caleb already knows this particular word, thanks to said father’s verbal outbursts during sporting broadcasts. (I don’t think it’s nice to call Tom Brady a little b#@ch, either.) We all agreed it was not a good word to say and that the character on the movie should not have said it. We also all agreed that Ben did not need to know that word at this particular juncture. Caleb went back to drinking his cocoa.
“For the love of God, Holly. It’s like you were trying to get him to say the f-word,” said John.
I wasn’t trying to get him to say it. I just wanted to know if he knew that what he heard was the end-all, be-all swear, as well as the most versatile and grammatically interesting curse word that was ever invented.
Fortunately, he was so focused on the sudden sound of the bad word he DID know that it didn’t occur to him that it was preceded by a very subversive, well, gerund in this case.
Innocence preserved just a little longer.