Rose: “Crystal. What was that word you used yesterday?”
Me: “Was it ‘fuck’?”
“Well, you used that one, but the other word…?”
“Court-diversion” was the answer she was going for. I knew without doubt that my previous day had the queen mother of all dirty words. The “F-dash-dash-dash.” (fake bonus points awarded to anyone who knows that quote.)
I say fuck too much. I’m not sure how it started. Maybe I thought I would sound cool or tough. Or maybe I thought that it would make people think I’m outgoing, or whatever thoughts it caused in their head. But regardless of how it started, it took on a purposeful life of it’s own.
It’s become my filler word. Where someone with a fully functioning brain may say “uhhhhh,” my twisted self will insert “fuuuuuukin.”
There’s been times over the years when I’ve been more potty mouthed than others. When we had the classic young child saying the bad word at school, the teacher said it wasn’t a big deal. “Lots of kids hear their dads talk like that.” I could’ve corrected her, but I didn’t.
I was able to pass for a number of years, mostly swearing like a sailor on the down-low. But recently it seems to be getting brazenly worse. It’s like “fuck” is my emotional support word for those days/weeks when I feel like I’m stuck between losing my mind and finding my soul. (another stolen internet quote).
It’s the word that flows so freely when injustice hits people who are important to me. Their situation doesn’t improve by me using so much profanity. I know that. But since my passion runs in the red pretty often on the daily, it seems like cussing is all that’s left to add oomph to my expressions.
TWICE in the last week I’ve said that word in the presence of someone who really doesn’t deserve to hear it. Our dear, sweet, revered director has the ability to get some serious shit done; completely without the use of potty words. She is to child welfare what Will Smith is to rap.
TWICE!
Teapot Tara tried to prevent the second f bomb by “subtly” calling out in a voice way louder and high pitched than her regular “OH! HI!! NANCY!!!!” It could’ve worked. But I tattled on myself. “You didn’t have to tell her” offered Teapot. “I’m Catholic” was my response. Tara and Nancy nodded with full knowing that yea, yea I did have to tell on myself. ‘Tis the Catholic code.
Problems can’t be fixed until they’re fully identified. So I asked young Dirty, “When I say ‘fuck’ does it sound like a mom saying it? Or does it sound like some fake forced word?” “I don’t know. You say it a lot.”
So boom. There it is. I’ve identified that it is a problem. It’s a problem I hope to correct. It’s not very ladylike, grown-up, or professional. Please be patient with me as I try to eliminate my sentence enhancer. I may explode from managing my least favorite f word (feelings) without the help of my most favorite f word.
But make no mistake, just because the volume of the communication changes; imma be still just as passionate.
Thanks for reading!
Bifocals and Barbells 