I feel I should preface this story with the hard core truth that I never really curse. I blame the strict Baptist upbringing I had for my crystal clean vocabulary. Honest truth, I just don’t swear that often.
The other day, I saw a centipede the size of a football field running across my floor. It looked like a giant ball of fuzz, but being there is no wind blowing on the inside of my aparetment I was perplexed. I bent down to see if I could solve the moving fuzz mystery and yelped out without thinking, “WTF is that!?”
I made the mistake of shouting this while crouched at The Max’s height level. He crouched down beside me just as the Crocodile Hunter would during a fascinating discovery and replied, “WTF is what, Mommy?”
I expectedly lost it at that moment. I was laughing so hard that the fear of centipedes crawling on me while I was fast asleep was far from my concern.
I just heard my little angel say F*$k.
And to insure that I would continue with my laugh so strong that it was one of those belly laughs that made no sound, he added, “I cannot find it, WTF was it?”
So, that’s his freebie. I told him it was not okay to say that and Mommy was wrong. Next time he gets the soap.