My husband hates swearing, and very rarely does it. Unfortunately for me, swearing is second nature, as familiar as breathing. I'm not saying it's a trait I'm proud of, but at the same time I don't think it's a big deal. As far as vices go, it's pretty mundane. When I go on a tirade, it is usually enough to leave my family speechless. When Rob tells me that he has never known anyone else to string as many different curse words together as I can, I'm pretty sure he is not paying me a compliment.
One day, when I had spent a fruitless 3 hours, squished under my desk trying to get the internet to work, my youngest was pestering me, and I told her in no uncertain terms to go and play outside which she did. However she also warned her father and brother not to come in and bother me because I was in a bad mood. That of course was like a red rage to a bull for Grady, and he had to come right in and find out for himself. Stupid ! Stupid ! Stupid ! Once I had finished my invective, he went back out to his father and reported "Sid's right. Mum's in a really bad mood, I've never heard her use so many 'f***s' in one sentence".
Unfortunately Rob is not the only one who lectures me on my potty mouth, my sister does too. I have received many a blistering harangue, when I have let the wrong word slip within her earshot. I dread the inevitable day that Sidney drops the F-bomb in front of her. Although, to be fair, I don't think it sounds nearly so bad when it's uttered in the Queen's own English, but somehow I don't think my sister will agree.
The kids even talked me into starting a "Swear Jar" once, with the intent that they would split the proceeds. Not only did I run out of money after three days, it also became apparent the kids were going out of their way to wind me up and provoke me into swearing. They must have thought me a right plonker to fall for that one.
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