WARNING:
This Forty Tale contains strong language, paranoia and regret. Reader discretion is advised.
There are certain words you are just not supposed to say. And you know the ones I’m talking about…the dirty words.
Shit. Fuck. Ass. Damn. And of course, the worst of all, the “C” word, which I can’t even write down. If you don’t know what word I am referring to, check out any episode of the Real Housewives of New Jersey, as it is used as commonly as the word “hello” on that show. If you’re still confused, I’ll tell you when I C you next Tuesday.
For some reason, when I entered my forties, not only did I gain weight and anxiety, but I also gained the mouth of a truck driver. I think the intentions for my newfound Drunken Sailor Syndrome (DSS) stemmed from social angst and stress. And California traffic. But that’s a different blog for a different time.
My mom once told me that she cringes every time she reads the “F” word in one of my posts. That comment made me feel bad, because I certainly don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable with what I am writing.
But, at the same time, I am a little defiant when it comes to that word, because I feel that it adds an emphasis like no other. Case in point, take the following statements:
- 90 Day Fiancé is a train wreck.
- The Real Housewives are insane.
- This soft serve is amazing.
Now, let’s add the “F” word to those statements:
- 90 Day Fiancé is a fucking train wreck.
- The Real Housewives are fucking insane.
- This soft serve is fucking amazing.
See what I did there? See how much better those phrases sound?
I’m pretty sure my mom just stopped reading.
