So I’m sitting at the dinner table with my two-year old niece, happily consuming Thanksgiving leftovers. I’m reading my book while she pokes and prods small slices of pumpkin pie. Ollie, being a relatively chatty toddler, prattles on to me, herself and the pie in no particular order.
“Unk Cha-e”, she hails from her high chair
“Yes, Precious?”, I ask without looking up from my book.
“Wha’ da f#ck?”
I am brought up short. Laying my book down, I finally concentrate my attention on her. Slowly, I answer. “What’s that, baby?”
“Wha’ da f#ck?”, she asks, confirming that I did indeed hear what I thought I heard the first time. I’m torn between giggling and calling her mother to task for the child’s foul language.
Suddenly, she whips her fork from under the table and raises it high above her head, shouting in triumph, “There it is!”
I’m so amused by the whole exchange that we end up playing “Where’s the Fork” for another 15 minutes.