The Boy Who Cried Foo-Foo - A Thoroughly Modern Day Fable

I recently broke all the conventions and etiquette of guest posting by begging the wonderful Catherine of Cup of Tea and a Blog fame to let me scrawl all over her lovely page. She was a fantastic hostess, nothing was too much trouble and the tea was to die for. The Boy Who Cried Foo-Foo puts a modern day spin on a well known fable, it certainly rings true in our house and I am sure most parents will identify.

Once upon a time there was a mischievous little toddler. Over time the toddler had realised that mischief was at it’s most pleasurable when it was at the expense of his long suffering parents. Each night when the little boy was laid down to rest his sleepy head he would sit and bide his time until he heard that familiar sound of wine meeting glass, he would take a deep breath and at the top of his lungs cry “foo-foo, foo-foo”. Now to anyone else this would sound like the ramblings of a simpleton, but the boys parents were long enough in suffering that they recognised it as Cockney Rhyming slang for poo-poo. The parents reluctantly put down their large glass of cheap red wine and dragged themselves away from My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, #guiltypleasure, just as the gypsy bride was about to be presented with her 60kg wedding dress complete with 12 metre train and little neon flapping butterflies, following the cries to the boys bedroom.

The boy continued with his cries of foo-foo and even pointed convincingly to the offending area. Much to the surprise/annoyance of his parents the mischievous toddler’s nappy was in fact without foo-foo, completely foo-foo-less, it was a foo-foo free zone. The parents sternly told the mischievous little boy that it was very mischievous to lie but the boy just grinned back mischievously, they somehow resisted the strong urge to swear. “Little boy do not cry foo-foo when there is no foo-foo, we put down our anaesthetising glasses of red wine and tore ourselves away from My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding just as it was getting good, one day there will be a real foo-foo and your cries will go unanswered.”

The parents dragged their sorry arses out, swearing all the way before settling back into their arse grooves in the sofa. A little later that evening the boy once again cried for help “foo-foo, foo-foo” was the call that came, this time with real intent and urgency. The parents necked the dregs of their cheap red wine and with gritted teeth left My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding just as the Gypsy bride was about to be presented with her 60kg, 10 tier wedding cake decorated with marzipan fairies and unicorns.

The parents, by this point on the edge, check the nappy and are astounded to find that for a second they had had the nappy pulled over their eyes – zero foo-foo. They threaten the boy with adoption only to feel guilty and retract the threat immediately. Instead they sternly told the mischievous little boy that it was very mischievous to lie but the boy just grinned back mischievously and muttered a word that sounded a lot like “suckers”, this time a swear word might have accidentally slipped out. “Little boy do not cry foo-foo when there is no foo-foo, we put down our anaesthetising glasses of red wine and tore ourselves away from My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding just as it was getting good , one day there will be a real foo-foo and your cries will go unanswered.”

The parents dragged their sorry arses out, swearing all the way before settling back into their arse grooves in the sofa. A little later that evening the mischievous little boy does a huge and smelly foo-foo. He cries again “foo-foo, foo-foo”, the boy is sure that his ever eager parents will come running to perform their duty. But his parents, now resorting to drinking an even cheaper bottle of red just to take the edge off the evening, ignore his cries. They are in a state of deep awe and wander as the Gypsy bride rocks up to her wedding in a 20 metre, pink, stretch Hummer dragged by horses and chauffeured by a gang of dwarfs.

The cries from the mischievous little boy continue, getting louder and louder all the while. The bitter old parents relent and with stony faces they burst into the boys bedroom only to be hit between the eyes with the unmistakable hum of foo-foo and that all too familiar sense of guilt washes over them again as it has so many times previously. The boy looks up at them as if to say: “Why would you do that to me, you are my parents and that is your job, no? You are bad people and I will be considering my options over the coming days but mark my words there will be action.”

The old man takes the boy in his arms and hugs him tight, whispering in his ear that he can have Ben and Jerry’s ice cream for breakfast and his pick of Tonka trucks from Toys R Us. When the child’s wrath has subsided a little, the old man feels its safe to deliver the moral that all good fables must have; “If you are going to lie son, do not do it between the hour of 8 and 9pm on a Wednesday evening during My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, for your cries will go unanswered”.

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