Which F-word would that be?

A large, heavy truck trundles by, the noise of its passing rising with the surge of shifting gears. Zach points, bouncing with glee.

“Fwuk! A fwuk!!”

Darcy’s grey eyes dance with mischief. “Fwuk?” he drawls, in a this-has-potential tone.

Zach knows better. “No, fwuk.” He may not be saying it, but he knows how it should sound.

“Fwuk!”

“Not fwuk.” Zach takes a breath, tries again. “FFFFuk!”

Oh, this just gets better and better. Darcy is loving this. “Fuk?”

George, who is just as bright as Darcy but lacking Darcy’s quick sense of humour, clarifies the “confusion”. “No, he means ‘suwuk’.” Which, of course, doesn’t help as much as he thinks.

“But he’s saying ‘fuck’.” Darcy knows full well this is a naughty word. I do, too, which is why I’m letting this conversation continue uninterrupted. Darcy and I are sharing a joke, here.

Zach has had quite enough. He looks at both bigger boys in some disapproval. “No, no, no! Issa truck!”

So there.