Long ago, I thought my children became immune to swearing. It's no secret that I have a blatant love affair with dirty words. I just can't help myself. They flow out of my mouth before I can even take the time to realize that I've even cussed seven ways to Sunday until it's already been uttered. Well, f#ck me...
Anyways, I thought they were words that my kids knew as "Grown up words". [words that grown ups can say when their mom isn't going to get called into the principal's office if they let leash upon the general population. I mean, only I will get in trouble for my potty mouth.] Words that they scarcely paid attention to because they heard them soooo much up in here.
Boy, was I wrong.
Let's start with the most common offender other than myself: my father. Hmmm, guess what they say about apples and trees and all that. This man can hardly string together a sentence without invoking the Lord himself; at least three times. And while I prefer to spread the love and use a litany of differing curses, good ole Dad prefers Goddamn and Son-of-a-bitch.
And the kids have kept a tally! We've had as many as four Goddamns in a hideously run-on sentence and a whopping 30+ vulgarities total dropped in a single visit [let it be known he's usually here for about 3 hours, averaging out to over 10 blasts an hour]. Whew, that's some $h!+ indeed!
But the most recent one was the most amusing to me. See, my brother keeps a running commentary on my obscene vernacular. And usually after I sling about three or so in general conversation he points it out. [shrugs] His pristine mouth is beyond reproach...that is; unless he's doing manual labor. Specifically, in this instance - helping to remodel my powder room.
Imagine if you would a room that's 4'x4'. A man's legs are hanging out the door into the hallway. And for whatever reason I cannot even remember at the moment, the Hoover Dam broke open.
"F#ck this goddamned MFing piece of $h!+ cock-sucking MFing SOB..."
I laughed. My husband looked at me and laughed.
My son however was concerned. Very. Concerned. He came running into the kitchen. "Mommy, is he ok? I think he needs help! It's not funny! He needs help! WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!?" [...which incidentally made my laughing even more] See, my son was terrified that something was wrong with his uncle who doesn't swear in his presence, to have caused something so alarming to happen. I'm not sure what he feared - that a toilet somehow dropped on his head? I have no freaking clue.
Me: [shaking head] No idea, baby. He's frustrated. Go play. He's fine.
My brother: WHORE! DIRTY FILTHY GODDAMNED...
My oldest runs in: Mommy? He alright? Should someone help him?
My brother comes out of the bathroom wiping his hands and glaring at us. My husband and I lose it into a fit of laughter.
Brother: F#ck You.
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