Coming home from a fun day of pony rides I missed the video shop and needed to turn the car around. As we did so we clearly startled a group of young people, who happened to be walking up the road.
"They said a swear word," Master7 called out from the back seat.
"We don't say swear words," I reminded him. But he didn't want to let it go. Eventually I asked what the swear word started with.
He thought for a full five seconds. "W," he told me.
Hmmm.....wanker? It couldn't be worse than that, could it?
"Okay," I said, caving in, merely so we could move on. "What was the swear word?"
"What-the-fuck."
So it's official: poor spelling runs in the family.
"At least he knew he wasn't allowed to say it," Tracey consoled me.
I'm more concerned I've fallen for the same thing twice. Shame on me.
Be Cuss I Can
No comments:
Post a Comment