WTF?
Sep 1st, 2010
by Alexis Novak
I blame my Catholic school upbringing for my love of cursing.
I once gave my dad a lecture on the grammatical flexibility and superiority of the f-word- noun, verb, adjective…it’s just that versatile, and if used sparingly, is the curse word with the most bite. I love that damn word! As parents, if we say it now it is with scrunched up noses through gritted teeth, softly. But to really do it justice you have to shout it. I love the way it fills up your mouth with pissed-off-ness and shoots out like a bullet. It’s offensive and delicious. Today I use it to punctuate a point I am making, usually in an argument, usually when I am right. You know, a lot.
The problem is now I have a living tape recorder who follows me around all day and said last week, “Cold water sucks” and then laughed. I cringed.
In my former life words like “sucks” were fairly innocuous. These were safe substitutes when real cursing wasn’t appropriate. Like when I was a nanny, preschool teacher, high school teacher and my brief stint in the convent. Then I had these precious beasties I call my daughters and I had to edit fast. A young cursing mom is as attractive as a smoking one; neither of which I aimed to be. In my house, the vocabulary evolution went something like this: shit; crap; crud; Christ. Kidding. It really went like this: fuck; freak; fart; ffffff. See, I still need a good sub. Saying the sound isn’t nearly as satisfying. Ditto with spelling it out; no pleasure in that whatsoever.
Censuring is harder in some mom situations than others. For example, I am sweet like Mary Poppins but as soon as I turn the key in my ignition I become a mean-ass potty-mouth. Motherhood has brought out the warrior in me and I believe bad drivers are trying to murder my family. So please get the word out to senile Florida drivers- if it comes down to you and me, I will cut a bitch. (But quietly so as not to frighten my kids in the backseat.) I once almost fought a 60 year old man driving a lime green VW convertible because he cut me off at a roundabout and then flicked me off. Sure, my wrath was fueled by some postpartum weirdness but I think I could have taken him. Instead of screaming the f word at him which would have been my go-to road rage slur, I thought it much more intimidating to throw up gang signs. Showed him.
I also find that the kitchen is a room where curse words like shit can surprise you, especially when you are clumsy. I am always burning myself, ruining the measurement of an ingredient or spilling salt in my homemade salsa when I meant to do a pinch. Without thinking about it, the phrase “oh shit” sneaks up and then I scan the ground quickly to make sure my toddler isn’t right there to hear it. Thankfully, toddlers never stop moving so she rarely is.
Thank God, I mean Thank Goodness, there are times when I can let the fucks fly. When I have date night with my hot mama friends and the margaritas are flowing, I try to drop f-bombs constantly, hitting my quota for the week so that I can go home all clean and pristine and ready to mother. Until more adult time, I will stick to “toots”, “tushie” and “Oh My Gosh”…all the g-rated substitutes that I can stomach. Cursing for me will have to go the way of many other guilty pleasures- wait ‘til the kids are out of house in about 20 years and then start talking like a truck driver again. WTF.
Related Posts
Written by Alexis Novak • Leave a comment
