The F Bomb

On lazy uneventful days such as these I'll be dipping into the grab bag of old stories in order to catch up on all the good stuff from our pre-blog life. Here is one of my favorite stories about Q thus far from about 6 months ago. Kids say the darndest shit!

Q and I were reading one of Q's favorite Curious George adventures. It involves fire trucks. Go figure. When we reached that inevitable peek of monkey naughtiness, Q, shaking his head, plainly comments, "Fucking Monkey." Now despite this statement being the most perfectly articulated two words that he has ever blurted out, I seriously questioned whether I had heard him correctly. "Fucking George.", again shaking his head, pointing at the little trouble making primate on the page before us. This time there was no denying what he said. There is also no doubt to the fact that he picked up this expletive from his mother's pregnancy hormones induced tirade a few day's prior in the car because I took the "wrong" entrance into the mall of america. I'm willing to take the rap for most of Q's extensive inappropriate vocabulary. "Shit" and "damn it" come to mind. But K8 is definitely the one that's to blame for this one. Fucking K8!