Because we have fun I’m doing a two week swear contest with my parents.
Each swear costs twenty five cents. We have a big vase on the bar and have to add for every swear; I have buttons, my mom has elbow macaroni and my dad has paper clips. Jesus Christ counts, God doesn’t so goddammit is just one. Flipping someone off counts.
I’m pretty square but I do have a potty mouth. I have a vivid memory of my grandmother (aka the best woman there ever was) telling the electric can opener “open you son of a bitch.” I was young; maybe eight?
Let me share the first swear we each said. My mom kicked it off when my leg was itchy and I asked for some cortisone cream. Well I’d been itching and it was extra red. She saw it and said “Jesus Christ.”
I was sitting on the porch with Kevin and my eyes were so itchy.
“What time is it?”
“10:30.”
“Ok it’s worth ten cents. Fuuuuck.”
My dad made it until the afternoon but was watching hockey and told Kevin in the hallway “the Blackhawks are beating the shit out of Edmonton.”
Two of my three swears the first day were because of The Mandalorian. First: “I want to binge this!” “We’re halfway through the eight episodes.” “Shit!” And second there were like fifty stormtroopers pointing their guns at our three good guys and I said shit.
It’s so hard to watch this and not swear. There are a lot of mother fucking assholes. Anyone that’s seen it knows.
For the most part consciously decide to swear. It’s usually shit or fuck; for me damn and hell aren’t worth the money. I’m on the fence with ass.
It’s showing me though how bad I curse. Now ideally I’d love to say how this will clean up my act. But I know myself. It for sure will not.
Arlene would love this shit.
