Yesterday I took four children (my own three, plus a play date) to the supermarket on our way home from school. Halfway down the bread aisle, the friend began recounting a tale from school. I had tuned out and was just examining the baguettes, when he finished his story with,
‘…and then he said, “Holy Crap”‘
‘Shh!’ I hissed, as the expletive echoed around the supermarket (what is it with the acoustics in those places?) ‘Don’t use language like that, please.’
‘What did he say?’ my eldest asked. He had obviously been as disinterested in the tale as I.
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘It was a naughty word and we don’t want to hear it again.’
‘Was it shit?’ my son said.
An elderly lady looked up from the Battenburg and tutted.
‘No.’ I ushered the children towards the tills.
‘How about bollocks?’ one of my daughters suggested, helpfully.
An approaching father swerved two children out of our path.
‘It wasn’t bollocks, alright?’ I said. Why was everyone so keen on the bread aisle, suddenly? ‘Just drop it.’
‘I expect it was bugger,’ said the other daughter.
‘Or arse.’
‘How about tosser?’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake!’ I bellowed, as we reached the tills. ‘It was crap, okay? HOLY CRAP. Happy now?’
There was a stunned silence, before the lady behind the counter leaned forward. ‘Don’t use language like that in here, please.’
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled. My children shook their heads and tutted in disapproval.
Bugger it.