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The F bomb disposal unit
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You knew it had to happen eventually, right? I mean, there just comes a point in a kid’s life when that dreaded word escapes the lips.

Aytch Eee double hockey sticks is one thing, as are the various "sound alikes" for other cuss words or words that we aren’t supposed to say.

I know parents get all guffed up when someone lets go a "Jesus!" every now and then.

My fixer for that is "Cheez-its!"

Another one that seems to get people’s dander up is when they hear someone let fly an "Oh my God!"

You can substitute an "oh emm jee" for that, but it just doesn’t have the same effect as actually saying it.

Now, the way The Kid let loose of the "f" bomb the other day was not unusual when you mix up a group of five young girls and one lone boy.

He was trying to get to know some of the kids in the neighborhood, who all happened to be girls, all of whom we never see during the school year because of where they go to school, and after school activities, et cetera.

The Kid and his buddy were riding their bikes up and down the street, when the girls decided it was time to make an appearance.

As young folks do who don’t know each other very well, they sorta passed each other on the street, casting glances without saying much other than "hey."

The buddy, at one point, finally had to go home, so we took him on down the road and stopped for a quick nip in to McDonald’s, and then back home.

The Kid saw that the girls were still milling about like slow fat bees, so he primped, fussed and combed his hair for 15 minutes before going back out to make himself the much sought after "flower of sweetness."

You know, hoping to be the honey to the little bees.

I warned him, fair and square, that girls of that age are not to be messed with. 

"I don’t think you should go out there ... you’re outnumbered ... and they can be brutal," I advised.

He zipped up his little jacket and off he went.

Ten minutes later, the back door slammed. Stomp!Stomp!Stomp! went the little size 5 sneakers down the hall. Slam! went his bedroom door.

I looked at Hubs, who muted the TV (only in cases of extreme emergency, mind you), and he looked at me.

"Uh oh," we said in unison.

Just at the that, the Kid came out, head hangin’ low, steam rising up off the top of his head. I scooted over on the sofa and patted a place for him.

"What happened?" I asked very gently.

He fumed for a minute, trying to choose his words carefully, wringing his fingers.

He was close to a growl as he told me the events that unfolded.

He’d gone out on his bike to ride with the girls, one of whom encouraged him to try doing a splitz first, which as any young man with experience knows is almost nearly impossible to do, but he ain’t that experienced, so he tried it. Just going along to get along, you know?

So he’s in this awkward position when the little gal yanks one of his legs, causing him to fall and bruise the ego while another hussy takes off on his bike.

The other three gals were giggling and doing cartwheels, and then they started throwing stuff at him.

He asked for his bike back, but the 9-year-old on it refused to give it back, taking off down the street again.

"I asked her politely three times, Mom, but when she wouldn’t give it back, I told her to get the eff off my bike! I know I shouldn’t have said it, but it was making me mad and I wanted to get out of there! I know the mom is gonna show up here so I thought I’d better tell you."

I patted his knee and told him to go on back to his room and forget about it. His dad and I would handle it.

Sure enough, jogger mom came over and fussed about him dropping the "f" bomb in front of the girls, and Hubs went at her like Foghorn Leghorn taking down Chicken Little. 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hubs get his dander up quite like he did when Jogger Mom started to insinuate that our child was abominable, while her girls and friends were Strawberry Shortcakes.

"Children of the Corn" is more like it.

I haven’t seen Hubs ever get so animated, but ooohlawsy, she done rocked the wrong boat!

Mind you, he has never ever ever said the "f" word. Ever. He makes up his own colorful language that sometimes sound more ridiculous than it does foul language.

Huskeyvarna. Shimshoz. Fishkanoosh.

Hubs has his own arsenal for a verbal assault, but I could see that if he was ever to use the "f" word at any time in his life, this encounter with Jogger Mom would be the time.

I had to intervene to avoid an even uglier scene.

I took her outside and explained what the girls had done to The Kid, forcing his hand to resort to the base level to get the result he wanted.

She hadn’t gotten the full story from her side of the fence, of course, so even though she still didn’t agree to the language used, she understood where he was coming from. Kind of.

She tried to allay the situation by saying she understood that he had probably heard "that word" on television or on his video games and I said, "Yes, that is probably true," not being one to admit to her that I am the purveyor of all that is "F" word in this house.

Oh well.

A few minutes later she was back, with all the girls in tow, and they apologized to The Kid for their behavior (although clearly they didn’t mean it) and he apologized for cussing (although clearly he didn’t mean it) and the mom suggested that one day The Kid and the oldest girl (who is the same age) could get together and play video games and wouldn’t that be nice... (except that one would be playing Viva Pinata, while he is playing Call of Duty Modern Warfare 3).

They left, all smiles and giggles, and the Kid looked at Hubs and me and said, "Like that’s ever gonna happen." 

I took a deep breath and thanked Cheez-its for keeping The Kid out of the "I like girls!" loop for another couple of years.

The friction between boys and girls who are trying to figure out how the other works is one thing, but the baby steps into young love?

Momma can’t handle that ... no way, muffaluffa.