Okay, mabye that's not really a story appropriate for a family blog. But the point of the story is that I know my way around Farmboy French. Now that I'm a bit older and more mature, of course, I try really hard not to curse that much. Except for the biblical words, which I sprinkle about my language to season it up, sort of like salt on a tasty steak. Or sometimes more like the steak itself, I guess, when the mood strikes.
I bring this up because Bardo, skillful linguist though he is, still has a bit of trouble pronouncing the odd word here and there. And, in the case of two of his favorite words (shirt and truck), the resulting phonemes have a distinctly profane flavor.
I try not to giggle. I really do. But the Witch's giggling renders my efforts useless.