The Fucking Truth

Because we'd had an unexpectedly emotional visit to the vet yesterday afternoon, B and I were loving the dogs extra special hard on the sofa last night when Sid, from her spot on the recliner next to us, let fly a thought.

"I wonder what kind of person Patches would be."

"The best kind," I answered.

Sid looked at me with her eyebrows crumpled together as though the three simple words I'd just uttered deserved some serious contemplation and then said, in the voice that means she's serious, "That's so fucking true."

Neither B nor I scolded her for her use of the second worst swear word because we felt, without even having to confer with one another, that the added emphasis was not only appropriate but, given the circumstances and what may or may not come next, entirely necessary.