I’ve got a FF story, but it’s a little different. (Slide alert).
I moved to San Diego in the late 80s with my soon to be wife. Not long after we moved here, there was a story on the news, and a big article in a free local rag called The Reader, about the manager of a popular restaurant in Pacific Beach. It was an expose of the sexual harassment that the waitresses at the restaurant had to endure.
Among the things that the waitresses suffered was the manager instructing them that they were supposed to come to work with that “FF look”. It made them look hotter, I guess.
FF? Freshly F’d.
That acronym stuck with me all these years. To this day, if my wife has her hair a tad askew, of after we go inside on a windy day, I tell her she looks FF. She still doesn’t laugh, but I do. She’s a terrible audience.
That manager was fired, I believe. Nowadays, he might be drawn and quartered by the Sisterhood.
IF it comes up now, he could STILL get drawed and quartred.