Something in Barb's latest post triggered a childhood memory that I feel compelled to share. What with "F" being for "Friday" and all...
When I was about 7 or 8, we started learning cursive writing in school. I had a hard time with it. I was excited about the process, though, as I loved making up stories, and they'd only look better on paper with this fancy new style of writing! So I worked at it very hard, even when I could have been playing with my Star Wars action figures.
Finally, I felt, I had mastered the particularly difficult letter "F." I wanted to show off to my mother, my parents being quite supportive of all our creative pursuits. (Well, except maybe that time I drew a sun - or was it a cloud? - on that guy's painting at the art gallery, but I hardly remember that, so I don't suppose it counts. Though my difficulties with visual art may stem from that early trauma....)
Anyway. Back to the writing: I found a notepad and a pen, and sat down at the table. Painstakingly, with the greatest care (and uncharacteristic patience!), I wrote the best phrase I could think of, with the most "F"s. With great excitement, I took my masterpiece to my mother, anticipating her maternal pride, the smile which would accompany her praise. Maybe she'd even give me a cookie. This writing thing was great!
You can imagine my proud mother's sweet, joyful reaction when I handed her the pad, on which I'd written a good two dozen times, that F-laden phrase: "f**k off"
(In retrospect, I bet that as soon as she was in private, she laughed her arse off about it...though I'm glad she didn't think to tell the story at my wedding!)