#19 – Forget You? No, F**k You, Most Definitely!

I like the Cee Lo Green song, “Forget You.”  I positively love its unsanitized version, “F**k You.”  That’s the one I downloaded and burned a few weeks ago along with some other current tunes I fancy.  After popping the shiny new CD into my car’s player, I listened to it nonstop for a solid week. Then, in typical fashion I forgot about it. 

Yesterday, the CD’s existence and contents were recalled to my attention by Sophia’s sister-in-law Gina. She’d sent her car off for servicing, and I’d graciously lent her my own so she could drive her three-year-old daughter to a doctor’s appointment. Frankly, I fail to understand how Gina’s decision to take Grandma along for the ride and the consequences of said choice get pinned on me. I’d turned off the radio two weeks earlier and hadn’t powered it up since.  And I’m not the one who left her mother-in-law and toddler alone together in the vehicle for several minutes with the engine running. 

How can it be my fault that the technologically-challenged old woman who gave birth to my wife inadvertently pressed the radio’s power button, while absorbed in rearranging her voluminous pocketbook?  Or that it took her a full three minutes to figure out how to turn the unit off again after music began playing? And why blame me for the simple, though admittedly unfortunate, coincidence of the tune blaring from the stereo happening to be none other than Cee Lo Green’s chart-topper? 

I think you can guess my answer to each of those questions. However,  I suppose when a mother steps into a car and hears her precocious three-year-old singing “Fuck you, and Fuck her too!” at the top of her lungs – while accompanying each “F” phrase with separate, disturbingly appropriate stares at her mommy and grandma – there has to be a scapegoat.

cee lo green

Little chance I’ll forget you, Cee Lo Green


#19 – Forget You? No, F**k You, Most Definitely! — 6 Comments

  1. When my child was 4, she used to ride more often with my wife. Once, I was driving my sweet, innocent girl somewhere and we encountered a slow-moving vehicle directly ahead. Suddenly, from the child seat boomed, “GET A MOVE ON, GRANDPA!!!” 4 years-old and already, the innocence ends . . .

  2. My experiences with children usually have less innocuous endings.  And the yelling is usually directed at me, typically from the tyke’s parent.

  3. My child?!!!  Bite your tongue.  She’s my wife’s niece.  Not even a blood relative!  But, in case her mother happens to read these comments (or the blog), let me just say the girl is simply adorable.

  4. Oh well, your child, wife’s niece’s child…it’s all the same. Though I suppose being a man you can be quite sure which child is yours, and which isn’t.

    For women, of course, it’s different. We’re never entirely certain if a child is ours, or not. I sometimes wonder how many of my offspring, unbeknownst to me, roam the earth…

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