Not MY pre-teen, but the one down the street decided to drop the "F" bomb upon me... Even MY pre-teen got the look of "Oh, Shit! Dude! You did NOT just go there!"
It's not that I fear the "F" word. Fuckity, fuckity, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fucking fuck, fuck! Fucked fucker!... I mean really. But I do not need some snot nosed, punk ass little bitch telling me to shut the fuck up because I told him not to throw rocks into the street as cars were passing by. Without another word, I went down the street and questioned the boy's mother... Questioned her parenting, shook my head quite a bit, cast her some judgmental looks... Then threw my hands up in the air and said, "Well, he's your son. Handle it however you want..." and walked away...
She was already mortified when I told her what happened. (One of those uptight parents...) But I think I may have fried her brain when I questioned her parenting... Not one of mine... Someone else's problem... I have my own to worry about.
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