“Can I have breakfast fucker?” Miss3 asked me and I nearly fell over.
I should be clear that the Miss3 in this blog post is actually now Miss5. I went looking for this story on the weekend and discovered, through the wonder of Google, that I’ve never written it up. Well, that would be a super shame because I predict my children, together with their therapists, will be referencing this blog for years.
“What?” I stammered.
“Breakfast fucker,” repeated Miss3. “I want breakfast fucker.”
“What?” I stammered again. Despite knowing there was no one in the house except me, Tracey and the kids I still looked around guiltily to make sure my gutter-mouthed little cherub wasn’t being overheard by anyone.
This time Miss3 pronounced every syllable, like you would if you were trying to tell the listener they were an idiot for not getting what you were saying.
“I. Want. Break. Fast. Fuck. Er.”
That was it. I’d had just about enough of this. I swung into action.
“Tracey!” I yelled. “You’re needed in the kitchen!”
Hearing the urgency in my voice, my wife raced in.
“Go on,” I said to Miss3. “Ask your mother.” If you dare, I was thinking.
Miss3 looked her mother in straight in the eye and asked her, “Can I have a breakfast fucker?”
While I confess I’ve used the F word in times of great necessity, I have never referred to anyone as a fucker in my life. I predicted one of two things happening here. One, Tracey was going to burst into a fit of giggles or, two, she was going to burst into flames.
“Of course,” said Tracey, and she reached into the pantry. Then she handed our daughter a corn thin and explained to me, “She’s asking you if she can have a breakfast cracker.”
Little speech impediments can be such fun, can’t they?
If you enjoyed this post please share, like or comment.
It really does make a difference. Thanks.
“Raising a family on little more than laughs”
LOL it would be a shame indeed for their future therapists and spouses to not see these little gems. Loved this one Bruce lol.
Love your blog Bruce. Your story reminded me of when my now 5 year old son was around 2.5 and asked me one day; ‘Mummy where is the fucken stroller?’ I refused to believe my innocent cherub would mean what he said but he repeated it word for word at least five times. I immediately thought that perhaps I had uttered those words when wrestling the stroller into the boot of the car and felt so guilty (while simultaneously trying to work out how I could blame my husband for teaching him those words) until he then took me over to his Thomas train set and asked again. Then I realised and repeated back; ‘You mean where is the Fat Controller!’ He looked at me with such disdain as if to say; ‘Why yes you idiot that’s what I’ve been saying for the past ten minutes – use your listening ears Mummy.’
LOL Yep, it’s us with our dirty minds that get it wrong, not them 😉
I don’t have this problem at all, my 2 yr. old looked right into her sister’s face this morning and said, “you are pissin’ me off”.
There’s just no way to explain that away.
I remember the story of my then young cousin sweetly asking/demanding her “fork n knife” (say it quickly) from her brother who was quite shocked ….
Young Master 2 is at that stage where he gets super excited every time he sees a “fuck! fuck!” (truck).
He likes to share his excitement by pointing at said “fuck” and yelling it out at the top his his lungs.
Mr 3 loves rodeos. And everytime he sees a cow whether it is a toy in a shop or one in the paddock it’s a “fucking bull” I have to repeat yes dear it is a bucking bull.