I have had a running joke about needing to occasionally consult my Fucks Management Manual, also known as the FMM.

The FMM is incredibly handy. Chapter One is called “Zero” and Chapter Two is called – wait for it! - “Two.” If you are in a situation in which you need to decide how many fucks should be given, you only need to flip through these two short chapters to determine how many fucks to give.


Here are a few short case studies to give you a sense of how easy it is to use the FMM.

Scenario One: Did you accidentally scratch the side of your car while backing out of the garage? Go ahead and consult the FMM. You should probably give two fucks about that one. When the BAH (Beloved, Aforementioned Husband) comes home, there will be a conversation about the scrape-age and the logistics of getting it fixed or not.

The BAH may have some unreasonable things to say like, “Missy, this is the fifth time you have hit the passenger mirror on the garage wall. Are you trying to completely knock it off the car?”

I know – what a completely unreasonable question, right? However, by giving two fucks (or pretending to), a crisis may be averted. The FMM says, “Give Two Fucks about this one. Show that you’re a tiny bit sorry that you can’t back out of the garage in a straight line. As in, ever. Two Fucks for sure.”

(The BAH has just pointed out that there has never, EVER been a “crisis conversation” during any of the hypothetical car scrapes, car accidents, or pretty much any other dumb shit I’ve done to ruin my cars. He’s right. But this ultra reasonable-ness on his part is interrupting my hypothetical flow with the FMM scenario, don’t you think? Hush, BAH. Saint BAH.)

Scenario Two: You may be surprised to learn that, in this age of ubiquitous social media, the mean girl/boy passive aggressive nonsense has been ramped up quite a bit. There are all the folks out there who just want to jab someone else with a carefully worded post, inspirational quote, “facts” from Buzzfeed, or any such crap.

The bottom line is that their post must be all vague and unclear to everyone else....except for YOU. They want for you to read their weird post about “someone who took the last donut today” and for you to squirm.

Feel the squirm!

Feel the squirm!

At that point, while you are discovering that last.tiny.bit. of donut frosting under your fingernail – ah, bliss! – you see the “wah-wah donut!" post on FB and think to yourself, “Crap. Busted. Hmmm...this calls for the FMM.” And, sure enough, a quick perusal of the Fucks Management Manual will help you to discover that this is a Zero Fucks situation. As in, “I give zero fucks that you are mad about me taking the last donut. You snooze, you lose, Pokey. Next time, don’t spend so much time brown-nosing with Darla at her desk. Zero Fucks, dude. Zero.”

"Hey, Kids! Say hello to Mr. Zero, the Dancing Donut!"

"Hey, Kids! Say hello to Mr. Zero, the Dancing Donut!"

Scenario Three: Quiz Time!

Your next door neighbor’s air conditioner recently burned out because it was too closely surrounded by bushes. If the bushes had been trimmed back at least once in the last ten years, the unit wouldn’t have gotten overheated and finally stopped working. And, it stopped working no less on July 23, 2012, a day commonly known in the Old Testament as “That Dang Day It Was Hotter Than Fuck.”

Your neighbor is now having some trouble getting a technician out to repair or replace the unit. And there he is: standing on his driveway, and complaining to anyone who will listen about the shoddy craftsmanship about these A/C units these days. “Who the hell said it was a good idea to make these things overseas? Stupid politicians. Trump better tear up NAFTA.”

Step back for a moment now and consult your FMM. What should you do? Should you give zero fucks about your neighbor’s predicament with the A/C on the Hottest, Most Hellish Day of All Time? Or, perhaps, you should give two fucks because, after all, it is awfully hard to sleep when the house feels like the fiery pits of hell?

Tick tock.

What is your response?

*annoying buzzer sounding thingy*

The correct answer is tricky here. Are you ready?

The correct answer is Two Fucks AND Zero Fucks.


I know, right?  Tres tricky.

But here’s the deal: While you are listening to your neighbor whine about his broken A/C and not acknowledge that perhaps a little yardwork would have prevented this catastrophe, you need to give the Two Fucks. Giving Two Fucks will require some sympathetic nods, maybe an offer to bring a fan over for them. Give the Two Fucks or else that guy will be angling for an invitation to sleep on the foldout couch in your basement tonight. And that is the last damn thing you want. Give Two Fucks and then back away slowly. Keep your eye on the beast. Even, steady breathing. Don’t turn your back until you get to your front door.

But truly, your heart is with Zero. You give Zero Fucks about your lazy-ass neighbor who gave more love to his tv’s satellite dish than the damn overgrown bushes. I mean, he could have trimmed them at least once, for the love of God. Seriously, if you were ever to put your house up for sale, the Jungle Book next door would be a turn-off to any prospective buyers.

Therefore, it’s all about Zero Fucks here. The guy didn’t trim his bushes and now it’s hotter than fuck in his house. Zero, friend. Zero it is.


Thus, you need to give Two Fucks for the sake of social and neighborly relationships, but alas, your heart is with Zero.

You will find that this scenario – the Two, then Zero – is the most common solution out there.

And, by the way, you’re welcome.


Okay. So. The BAH had initially played it all low-key with my whole “I think I want to start blogging” idea. He was supportive, but didn’t seem interested in reading any of my entries. He was playing it suuuuuuuuuuper cool.

But here’s the real truth: He was Googling his fingers off today, trying to find me. Because, friends, that’s how hard things are for him at work. There is so much boring paperwork to do and there he is, spending precious time trying to find the Missy online instead. *sob!* *the struggle!*

It’s all about, “Where is Missy’s blog? I need to take a break from this slow-ass day here in the office and read some of my brilliant wife’s writing. She is the light of my life and I am blessed to have her insights committed to print form.” Or blessed to have her committed. Or something.

He found my blog, but he found something else first.

Apparently, FMM also means “Female Male Male.”

In a sexual sense.

For everyone who is laughing and saying, “Duh, Doctor Miss, you didn’t know that?” I’m here to say that, nope, I did not. I am the last one to the Sexual Partners Abbreviation *wink wink* Party. But I am also probably wearing a really pretty scarf. So there. Late to the party, but still great.

As part of this illuminating discussion today with the BAH about the multiple meanings of FMM and what the more *interesting* version could entail, there was – predictably! – this statement laid on the table:

“Instead of writing silly things that make you laugh,  you could just write about threesomes."




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Tags: humor

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