F and Becky

Once upon a time, when a disaster of momentous proportions crashed down upon the heads of an intrepid band of tech writers, my former co-worker F and his cohort Becky were two of the few people on the staff who had the skills and experience to deal with said crisis.

Writers came from remote offices far and wide to pull up their bootstraps, pull rabbits out of hats, pull wool over managers' eyes, whatever it took to get this problem fixed, but F and Becky were the heads of the pack.

Sometimes when we were feeling low and our fearless leaders were away in the trenches, we'd huddle together against the cold, dark, blustery chaos and ask "What would F 'n' Becky do?"

As lights began to appear at the ends of tunnels and the silver linings behind clouds became glittering chalices in the sky, the writers from the far off lands took their leave of us.

It seemed, however, that F's name caused confusion even amidst our stalwart visitors, as demonstrated by one young lady who turned to us at her departure and asked:

"Why don't ya'll like Becky? She seemed so sweet to me."