I am standing in a bus queue, outside the Tesco supermarket. Behind me, a woman with two small children (aged about three or four) is talking to her friend:
"So I f***ing well told him, I f***ing said, ‘F*** that. If you f***ing think I'm f***ing walking all the f***ing way to f***ing Tesco, then f***ing well carrying the f***ing shopping all the f***ing way back to f***ing Broadway, you can f***ing well stuff it up your f***ing arse. You can f***ing well bring the f***ing car up there and f***ing well give me a f***ing lift home, you f***ing tight f***ing lazy f***ing bastard.’ Well, that f***ing told him, I can f***ing tell you. He hasn't f***ing come though – so it's the f***ing bus. I'm not f***ing well putting up with it. And another f***ing thing – I'm f***ing well pissed off with his f***ing constant f***ing swearing when the f***ing kids are around."
1 comment:
Hewn from pure comedy palladium, that is. And then I return from a meetings with parents like that, only even more blinded, and the humor takes on a somber tone. Where are my blind spots? I dedicate myself to eliminating them, but I know they remain. I know I look that stupid to somebody.
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