Cussing like a Sailor

I really like to cuss. From the moment that my friend B and I first dared each other to say “damn” for the first time, I’ve loved that particular sub-set of words. I guess you might even look at my prolific and persistent use of swearing as a vice of sorts. They are such an integral piece of my own personal vernacular, but there is always a thrill that comes when they roll off my tongue in mixed company.

I’ve learned to control my mouth most of the time. Especially after one particular incident at a friend’s house in high school where I dropped the f-bomb in the middle of dinner with her parents and little brother sitting right next to me. That was bad. I put my mouth on a leash after that one.

I’m self-aware enough to curb that impulse when talking to doctors, clients or my son’s teacher, but get me with a group of girlfriends and watch out. My mouth develops a mind of its own and there’s just no telling what’s going to come out.

I’m also especially bad when I’m driving. Like today some silly woman decided to make a double turn lane where there was none and without even thinking I exclaimed, “What are you doing you dumb bitch?!?!” The Girl was in the backseat and without even skipping a beat immediately parroted back to me “Who is a dumb bitch mama?” It was awesome. Only not.

She’s much more of a mimic than her brother ever was in that once she finds a phrase she likes, she continues to use it over and over, whether it’s appropriate for the situation or not. So I’m just waiting for her preschool teachers to call me aside after school one day to regale me with a tale of how my perfectly sweet 2 ½ year old daughter just asked for the fucking glitter during craft time.

I do worry sometimes about how my use of cuss words will influence my children’s burgeoning grasp of language. And I wonder how to explain to them how to judiciously use those words when the situation calls for them. Jiminy Christmas, I’ve no idea.