I know you've been here before: You're sitting at a family-friendly eatery with your child, or maybe even with your spouse, girlfriend/boyfriend, enjoying a nice little meal when the bozo at the table next to you starts spouting out obscenities. He's dropping f-bombs left and right...every sentence contains at least one (because let's face it, it's a highly versatile word), like it's, oh, bunny or very or pretty.
So you give him a look. You know the one: the passive-aggressive "hey, buddy, knock it off, my kid's right here" look. But he doesn't get it. Why would he? This is how he speaks, after all. Why would he notice you and your wide-eyed 4-year-old sitting to his left? So you try to talk louder to your child so as to distract yourself and your partner from the foulmouthed fool. "How's that quesadilla, love? Isn't it good?!" -- and your child looks at you with confusion because he doesn't understand why you're yelling at him.
But Mr. Potty-Mouth keeps going. The f-bombs now flow forth with more colorful expletives (which I won't print here because this is a family blog, but you can guess), and he's getting more vociferous and animated. ESPN is on the television (why do we need televisions in restaurants? is your food that bad that we need the distraction?), and he's all fired up about some pitcher's poor performance. So you shoot another look, this time followed by a curt "excuse me!"
Yet, he doesn't get it. His friends do; they've asked him to tone it down. But he's still going...louder and bigger F's flying. Finally you hear this spew: "This f-ing guy is so f-ing oblivious...what an f-ing douche!" That's your limit. You look at him and say "Yes, some guys are really oblivious. Could you please watch your language?" His friend says, "dude, there's a kid..."
To which The Effer mutters under his breath, "F-ing bitch."
And this is when it's really nice to be 6-2 with ridiculously broad shoulders and eyebrows that you can arch a tiny bit menacingly. Even though your blood is really boiling now -- he did not just call me an effing bitch!!! -- you simply stand up, cross your arms, and say "Excuse me? What did you say?" (In your very best Mom voice, of course.)
The Bad Man leaves, sheepishly, and goodness and innocence is returned to the land. I mean, really -- if your kid is going to learn how to use the f-word, wouldn't you rather he learn it from you?