For some, saying the F-Word means nothing more than saying, “Darn!” “Dang” or “Holy Cow!” What the EFF!? Holy EFF! I’m EFFING hungry! What they EFF are you DOING HERE!? As a matter of fact, some of my very favorite bloggers use the word on a regular basis. For them, it sounds perfectly normal. In fact, a good smattering of the F-Word often makes their writing even more enjoyable!
I, however, cannot pull it off. I am just not the F-Word kind of girl. If I even tried to use it, I would probably do it all wrong. You wouldn’t think a good deal of my family lives in New York, right? (My mother is going to be mad at me for that.)
So imagine my teen boys’ great surprise when last week, I, Katherine, dropped the dreaded F-Bomb.
Indeed, while cooking dinner I innocently walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. As I did, my leg hit the bottom door shelf, causing all of its contents to shoot towards the kitchen floor. One of these items happened to be a full liter bottle of soda.
Soda is heavy. As a matter of fact, it is so heavy that when it slammed directly on to my foot, I dropped the F-Bomb. And then I froze. There was total silence behind me. I slowly turned my head, holding my breath. Did they hear me? Are they in the den? Am I safe?
“BWAH HA HA HA! Mom!!! You DROPPED THE F-BOMB!” “Michael, Mom dropped the F-BOMB!” And Mom, you didn’t even say it right! You went ‘FEK!’ Ha ha! ‘FEK!’ ‘FEK!’” “MOM DROPPED THE F-BOMB!”
“Well, you would say it too if you had a giant bottle of soda hit your bare foot!”
“FEK!”
“Shut up!”
“FEK!” “FEK!” “FEK!”
Ugh. Teenagers. Thank heavens my daughter wasn’t there.
The next day, my oldest son reminded my middle son that Mom dropped the F-Bomb. “FEK!” While lifting my foot on to the couch for my middle son to see, I replied, “You would have TOO if you had a huge bottle of soda land on your foot!” I pointed to the growing black bruise on the top of my foot.
And then my middle son began to laugh. And laugh and laugh and laugh. “MOM! You have MUCH worse problems then THAT! LOOK AT YOUR LITTLE TOE! It is HORRIBLE! OH MY GOSH! Look at that! It is DISGUSTING! HOW CAN YOU LIVE WITH THAT!?”
Sigh. Indeed… I have a wonky little toe. I can’t help it. I was born that way. Wonky.
So what do I do? Take a picture of it for the blog. What happens next? My daughter looks over at the picture on my screen, points to my big toenail and exclaims, “MOM! It looks like JESUS!”
A FACE?
Squinting, I moved my face closer to the screen. Sure enough, there is somebody on my big toe. I don’t think it is Jesus. If you squint a bit, I think it actually looks like one of the Bee Gees. Come to think of it, the Bee Gees all kind of looked like Jesus anyway, right?
Either way, I hope NONE of them heard me drop the F-Bomb!
