The Idiot

Here’s how a little conversation went this morning while on our way to the store. While driving, we encountered an individual who’s skills behind the wheel were lacking. I muttered a few choice words at him and called the guy an “idiot”. Pretty tame as far as “bad words” go.

S: Mummy, who’s that guy?

Me: Oh, just a car that wasn’t doing a very good job of driving.

S: What’s his name?

Me: I don’t know his name, just a guy in a car.

S: Is his name Idiot?

Me: Ummmmm, no….mama just…umm…called him a name.

S: Like idiot?

Me: Well, it’s not a nice name.

S: His name is Idiot?

Me: No Sofia, his name isn’t that. I’m not sure what his name is.  Mummy shouldn’t have used that word.

S: Is that guy Idiot?

Me: (Sigh) It was just a car that wasn’t driving very well, that’s all.

S: Is Eli Idiot?

Me: No baby. Hey look!  Squirrel!

You’d have think I’d have learned my lesson from last week, when she called me out on my language choices.

Me: Dammit, I bought the wrong cheese!

S: Don’t say Dammit Mummy!

What’s funny about this is that I’m very conscious about what I say in front of her.  And her father is a little less careful, and yet he NEVER gets corrected or have his words repeated back to him…i guess we should be thankful for small mercies.


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