The Unjust “F”
One afternoon, a little boy came home from school looking absolutely miserable. He slammed his backpack onto the floor and collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.
His father, who was sipping his coffee, looked up and asked, “What’s wrong with you?”
The boy groaned, “I got an F in math today.”
The father nearly choked on his coffee. “An F?! That’s impossible. You’re great at math! How did that even happen?”
The boy crossed his arms, looking deeply offended. “Well, first the teacher called me up and asked, ‘How much is 2 times 3?'”
“And what did you say?”
“I said 6.”
The father frowned. “But that’s correct!”
“I KNOW!” the boy shouted, throwing his hands up. “But then she looked right at me and vanned me with, ‘And how much is 3 times 2?'”
Hearing this, the father lost his patience with the ridiculous question. He threw his hands in the air and yelled, “Oh, come on! “What’s the f*ck*ng difference?”!”
The boy pointed at his dad and nodded triumphantly.
“EXACTLY! That’s exactly what I told her!”
