When she was four years old, my daughter Kathy was sitting in a cardboard box pretending she was driving. As I listened to her talking to her passenger, a teddy bear, I heard “Goddamn it!” and then “Son of a bitch!”
“Stop using that language!” I scolded in my best angry mother voice.
She looked up at me with wide, innocent brown eyes and replied seriously “But I’m driving!”
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