I am in a reflective mood tonight. Looking in the mirror has that effect.
I’m getting a little gray hair. At least I still have some. Small consolation.
Anyway, I was thinking back on my life and how my children have grown.
They used to be so sweet and innocent.
I daren’t type anything they say now. They are teenagers. Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink. Who am I kidding? I don’t understand what they are saying nowadays. They don’t talk . . . they text. LOL.
But when they were little . . .
We were visiting friends one time when my daughter was about six years old. Not just friends, but the pastor of our church and his family. At the end of the evening, we were getting ready to leave and my daughter had her hands full.
So she innocently asked the pastor’s wife, “Can you open the damned door for me?”
To say we were mortified was an understatement. Where could she possibly have heard language like that? And she wasn’t using it in the proper context. I mean, it’s not like the damned door just shut on her fingers. Of course, if it had, and she was in severe pain, then the F-word would probably have been more appropriate for that situation.
Anyway, the pastor’s wife took this in stride and chided my daughter.
“Now, now. That’s not a very nice thing to say. How do we nicely ask to open the door?”
Looking up at her with those innocent brown eyes, my daughter corrected herself. “Can you PLEASE open the damned door?”
And then there was the time my son came to me and asked me if I’d read a book to him.
“What do you want to hear?” I asked.
“I like the spooky whore.”
Well, so does daddy, but I don’t think your mommy would have bought you that book.
He went and got the book for me.
Hour. Whore. Innocent mistake.
Engrish is a funny language.