All of the objectionable words talk reminds me of a story…

On Christmas Eve, we went to my Dad’s. We left from my sister’s house, and my nephews rode with us, because there is nothing on this earth that my youngest nephew, Noah, loves more than getting in our car and finding out what decal or piece of molding he can manage to remove between our place of departure and our destination. It’s one of his many gifts.

So, on the way to my Dad’s, impromptu inspiration resulted in us teaching Noah the phrase “WTF?”. He asked right away if it was a bad word. (Because he knows us.) We convinced him that it wasn’t. The definition we gave him? “What’s this?” or “What’s that about?” Then, we told him, if he opened a gift he didn’t like, he should say “WTF?”.

The first gift he opened was a shirt. He was none too happy about it, but he was too busy crying to remember the phrase, so when the real adults moved out of the vicinity to fill their plates, we reminded him that he had something to say about the shirt. Proudly, he shouted “WTF?!?” at the adult humans.

My sister immediately said “Heeeeeyyyyy. You don’t say that,” in her most motherly warning tone.

So, Noah bursts into these huge tears, points at us, and says “They lied to me!”

I can honestly say, never in my life have I felt so bad and laughed so hard at the same time.

Don’t worry. The only ones who got into trouble were us, and we all made up by the end of the evening.