**warning, contains explicit language**
A few days ago, I posted a sweet little video of my darling dictator to be, uttering rather charming and coached phrases of death and destruction. Well, I found out the hard way today that I don’t really have to work as hard to get her to say things anymore.
It was about 5:15 p.m. and I was in the HOV lane heading home from a really tiring and hectic day at the office. Allyson was cheerfully bopping along to the music and chatting away about various unconnected things in her environment, when a minivan just slammed on its brakes in front of me, apparently unaware or unable to accomplish the whole ‘merging technique’.
One thing you should know about the intricate little fun ball that goes by the name, “Kate”, is that when I’m in a tense situation, I have an uncontrollable guttural reaction and usually end up uttering the foulest, nastiest words known to man. Do you remember that scene, in a “Christmas Story” where Ralphie is helping his father change the bolts on a flat tire? His father knocks the plate holding the precious and vital pieces of metal from his hands and the first words that that poor boy unwittingly shouts in despair in front of his own father, is “Fudge!” (of course we all knew what he really meant)
I have a theory that once you incorporate dirty words into your vocabulary, there is a signal that jumps from the synapses to your motor skills, impairing clear thinking in rather tumultuous surroundings. It just comes out. There is nothing you can do to stop it. You let the vile words escape your lips before you have any recourse in stopping them.
So where were we? Oh yes, the minivan.
I slam on my brakes, throw a hand up in the air in a sorta Tony Soprano ‘fungu’ type of way, although without any actual colorful plumage, and exactly 8 words exit mouth before I regain control.
“Learn how to merge, you stupid mother f*cker!”
Immediately, and without delay, my lovely, darling, sweet, cuddly, and charming 2 1/2 year old yells, “F*cker!”
I clasp a hand over my mouth, but the damage is done. She has uttered her first swear word and…
…it’s…
…all…
…my…
…fault.
I try not to laugh only because on every level that tells me how wrong this situation actually is, there is a part of me that finds it hysterical. Trying to coax her to get her mind off that word, I try coaching her into saying a few different phrases. One of which is, “Give me my money!”, from that rent skit done by Will Ferrell. I figure it’d be a neat little party trick.
Things went great for about 30 seconds.
After I started getting more passionate and we were yelling the phrase repeatedly, she threw this one out there.
“Give me my money, F*cker!”
Pardon my french, but I’m so fucked.
![Let’s Kill Hitler [HD]](http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51hESmStH-L._SL160_.jpg)
My friend Stotler commented that she was pretty smart, already putting sentences together… Blitz
And so it begins, and with the F-Bomb right outta the gate… Nice…
I’m almost positive mine little one’s first bad word will be shit, as me and Mrs. Foxbat tend to say it… a lot…
You could be Tasuja and have your first bad word be “douchebag.” Somehow, I think “shit” is preferable.
As a child I once saw a commercial advertising a frying pan. The commercial tag line was “It can hold more chicken than a hen house.” showing an image of chicken legs frying in the pan. I gleefully ran into the dining room where the extended family had gathered for thanksgiving, and announced to my very christian grandmother that she should buy this frying pan because it “Can hold more legs than a WHORE house”. I was promptly dragged into another room and chastised for my faux pas.
This led to me being morbidly scared of ever uttering a curse word in from of friends and family until I cam back home from the military. Just remember though Kate, kids may not say them in front of you, but when they are alone with other kids curse words are a currency for coolness.