In an effort to curb the compulsive channel-surfing that I am wont to do, Michael and popped "Charlie Wilson's War" into the DVD player after the kids were tucked in last night.
(It is here worth mentioning that the kids almost never re-emerge from their rooms after tuck-in, so we were reasonable in our assumption that we were "safe.")
We were only about 15 minutes into the movie -- the middle of Philip Seymour Hoffman's argument with his boss -- when Garrick poked his head into our bedroom. The dialogue at the time was running thusly:
"Fuck you!"
"Fuck me? Whaddaya mean fuck me? Fuck YOU!"
"Who is this fucking guy? I don't even know what he's fucking doing here!"
and so forth.
It was beyond the laws of physics to grab the mute button in time.
Luckily, Garrick was so intent on asking me what happened to the bathroom nightlight (the bulb burnt out a few nights ago and I haven't replaced it yet) that I don't think he even noticed that strange word eminating from the Oscar-winning actor's mouth.
Asperger's has it's small compensations.
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4 comments:
Heh.
Puck learned to swear appropriately and contextually when she was young. She liked to bust her skills out in front of company. ;)
HA! We had a similar experience with Bug Boy, except at the time he was whining and telling us how hungry he was. The next day, I heard him playing with his friends and telling him he heard a word (that some people use to describe female anatomy) that he thinks was a curse-word but he wasn't sure. I nearly keeled over with laughter...
Gee. Alas, my child hears those words out of people in the house. Not often, and with chagrin, but still.
Magpie, my kids call me on it when I say "damn." I can't get away with nothin'.
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