If I was, the word "pal" would still be banned in my home.
A few years ago (gosh, probably five or so), my sister Brooke came home from college for the summer with the word "pal" littering her sentences. It was "pal" this and "pal" that. She'd be watching a TV show and if someone was doing something she didn't agree with she'd say, "Pal, we need to talk." Enter Brooke into a room: "Hey, pal, whacha doin?" Brooke on the phone: "Pal! We need to hang out!"
After a day or so of being exposed to this poisonous influence, all the younger kids picked up on it. It was like the Black Plague, only instead of having our limbs swell up and explode, we just said "pal" a whole lot.
It wasn't a big deal. Or so we thought. Apparently, it drove my dad insane. During one dinner, he finally put his foot down.
"No one is allowed to say 'pal' anymore!" he thundered.
I'm not entirely sure what the punishment was, but apparently we took the threat to heart. The word "pal" became a swearword.
Which made it extra funny the next Sunday when all the Primary kids sang "My Daddy is my Favorite Pal" in front of the congregation for Father's Day.
Random anecdote? Check.