As I drove down our street, I spotted a good friend walking home from work about two blocks from our house. He was purposefully crossing the road behind me when I caught sight of him, so having not seen him since the end of June, I eagerly pulled my car over, popped it into reverse and drove backwards a few feet to get along side of him. When he looked up, I rolled my window down and pointed directly at him.
“Hey! I know you!”
“HEY!” he chuckled as he approached my car. Then placing a hand on the driver’s side door, he enthusiastically fired off that personal grown-up greeting often reserved for kid-free adult reunions: “How the F#%& are you?”
Unbeknownst to My Good Friend (MGF), my kids were in the backseat hidden by tinted windows at the time. While it’s possible Bodie may still have been lost in his headphones when the bomb went off (and has probably heard far worse in his own schoolyard), my daughter Delia, deeply offended by swearwords and therefore head of the potty-mouth-police, definitely would not have been amused.
With eyes bugged and an excessive smile that screamed “Sweet Jesus, you’re busted … retract, RETRACT!”, I nodded seizurely toward the backseat and watched as MGF’s face fell upon shadowed children.
“Oh, I … I’m… wow, that was just… I’m just a horrible man.”
Of course, his apology only made me chuckle, which in my daughter’s eyes might have been worse. Guilty by association.
But thankfully MGF is well liked in our family, and can probably slide by on his reputation for being a quirky, funny dad.
As for me? I’ll probably get three to five for aiding and abetting.