TOW Emma's Favorite Song

Summary: ..One-shot.. Young Emma writes an essay on what her favorite song is and why…earning her a reprimanding from the teacher.

A/N: And I'm back with another one-shot. Even when I don't watch Friends too often, I can't seem to stop getting ideas for these.

This one came from a weird place too. In my Race, Gender, and the Media class, we were talking about the portrayal of women in rap/hip-hop. Of course, Sir Mix-A-Lot's "Baby Got Back" comes up (we even watched the music video on youtube and my – female – professor read the lyrics…it was odd, to say the least), and being the Friends nut that I am, I couldn't help but think of "TOW the Inappropriate Song."

Also going to take this moment to shamelessly plug my new High School Musical parody fic, Fairy Tale Musical. I know, rare is the Friends fan who can also tolerate HSM, but I'd thought I'd at least throw it out there.

It wasn't fair.

Nine-year-old Emma jumped out of her dad's car, slinging her back pack over her shoulder as she stomped up the front walk to their house. It's not fair, she thought again. That teacher is such a meanie. Why'd she have to pick on me during my speech?

Entering the suburban house, Emma headed to her room. Her dad had just picked her up from her aunt Phoebe's house, where she'd been since she got out of school. Yes, she knew Phoebe wasn't technically her aunt, nor was her uncle Joey. But they'd been a staple in her life since she was born, so they definitely deserved the title.

"I'm home, Mom!" Emma yelled, knowing her fashion-designer mother would bother her about it if the fourth grader didn't call out some words of acknowledgement.

"Hey, sweetie!" Rachel called back from the kitchen. "Wash up for dinner, okay?"

Grimacing at the thought that her mother had attempted a small culinary feat and failed, not for the first time, Emma answered, "What are we having?"

"Leftovers from the restaurant! Monica gave us some lasagna!"

Emma breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God for Aunt Monica, she thought. Otherwise we'd starve. "Okay! Be down in a few minutes!"

"Hey, you. Get back here!"

Hearing her father's commanding yet gentle voice, Emma groaned and turned around. "Yeah, Dad?"

"What's with you today?" Ross asked, concern on his face. "You didn't say a word in the car ride back from Phoebe's. I'm worried."

Shrugging, Emma replied, "I'm just hate my teacher, that's all. I'm fine."

"Whoa, hating your teacher is not 'fine.' I thought you liked Mrs. Kennedy," Ross said, indicating for her to come back down the stairs.

Emma grudgingly complied, going to sit on the edge of the overstuffed sofa and facing him. "She's okay most of the time. But she just yelled at me today for no good reason."

"I'm sure she had a good reason. What did she yell at you for?" Ross asked, sitting down next to his daughter.

"This," Emma said, rummaging through her back pack. Moments later she pulled out a sheet of loose-leaf paper that looked like it had been crumpled into a ball. A glum frown on her face, she handed it to her father. "We do writing exercises every day and I volunteered to read mine aloud when she asked. She said it was 'inappropriate.'"

Wrinkling his brow, Ross smoothed out the paper and replied, "'Inappropriate'? What could you have possibly written?"

"We had to write about what our favorite song was and why," Emma explained. "Most kids picked the latest Disney or Nickelodeon songs."

Ross gave her a sidelong glance. "And…what did you pick?"

"Sir Mix-A-Lot's 'Baby Got Back,'" Emma answered, a smile crossing her face.

His own face paling, Ross scanned the essay, as if checking to make sure she wasn't kidding. When he saw she wasn't, he swallowed and said, "O-oh. W-well, don't worry, I'll talk to your teacher when I drop you off tomorrow and explain that we've sung it to you since you were a baby."

"Well, whatever," Emma replied with a shrug. "I still don't get what my teacher has against cheeseburgers."

At that, Ross raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"She practically fell off her chair when I got to the line about 'juicy doubles,'" Emma answered, leaving her groaning father behind as she went off to the bathroom to wash up for dinner.