My wife Liz and I were walking back to our car in a parking lot yesterday when we spotted a woman whose exposed belly indicated that she was either nine months pregnant or grossly overweight - I couldn’t tell which. She was headed toward the store while tongue-lashing someone on her phone and dragging along a little boy who looked to be about four.
Truth be told, we heard her even before we saw her, because she was using the f-bomb like the conversational equivalent of sprinkles on a cupcake.
“Your fuckin’ mother knows how to fuckin’ do that!” she shouted into the phone.
Her face contorted into an angry mask as she listened to the reply.
“I won’t fuckin’ do it!” she said in response, pausing in mid tirade to wait for the child, who had fallen. “I already told you the fuckin’ reason why!”
No doubt she’ll be suitably appalled when the tyke she had in tow (not to mention the unborn child she may or may not have been carrying) gets in trouble on his first day of school because every other word out of his mouth starts with the letter "f."
Of course, it remains to be seen whether she'll lash out at her fuckin' kid for having a fuckin' potty mouth, or at the fuckin' teachers for being so fuckin' uptight that they have to make a fuckin' federal case out of a little fuckin' profanity.
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