Friday, March 5, 2010

Bad language

I don't mince my words when I get angry. In fact, it's like opening the floodgates to the well of doom.

When Kate grew up, a few bad one's slipped out every now and then, but Kate being the sensible daughter she was - and is - always knew that my choice of vocabulary was never to be copied.
Leo is a completely different matter.
Yesterday, he was sitting next to me, eating plums, while I was trying, and failing, to open a document on my lap top. Finally I let out a big sigh.
- Oh, f***, says Leo, spitting out a plum stone.

Later, I tell my husband. He laughs, and says:
- You need to go back to work full-time so that we can let the babysitter raise our son, 'cos you are a terrible mother.
I know he's right. Either that, or I need to go to charm-school.
- Oh, and I also think I might have heard him say s*** the other day.
- I rest my case, says husband. You're out.

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