My mom was never much of a cusser. You knew you were in big trouble when she uttered “Dammit!” in a stern voice. One of the enduring memories my mother retained from my teenage years (and brought up all the time) was the first time she heard me say the “F” word. As the story goes, when she asked me where I learned such language, I said, “I learned it from you!” You would think that my comment would have elicited a cuss word or two from my mom, but all it got was a look of utter disbelief. Of course I didn’t learn that word from my mom. I don’t think she ever said that word in her life, even after I told her I learned it from her.
Over the years I learned how to cuss well despite the fact that my mom was of no assistance. I learned that a well-placed cuss word can really add some pow to a statement, especially when folks don’t see it coming. I am not like my mom though – I don’t always save my cussing for rare occasions. I can cuss a blue streak when I am in the mood. I find it quite liberating to be able to throw all my angst into a verbal tirade that is peppered with expletives.
I ran across a great picture on Facebook the other day that reminded me of how therapeutic cussing can be. It says: Therapy helps, but screaming obscenities is faster and cheaper. Ain’t that the truth??!! Sometimes nothing can express your feelings quite the same as well-placed cuss words.
Sometimes folks are shocked the first time they hear me cuss…but they quickly learn that I love to be able to cuss when I feel the need. There is a power in cussing. Cussing is not perceived to be “ladylike” – cussing is not polite. I like bucking the expectations of polite society.
I like that about me – that I am a good cusser who doesn’t apologize for it…indeed, who enjoys it. And that is my self-love for this week. What the – BLEEP!!!! – do you think of that?
Day nine hundred and fifty-six of the new forty – obla di obla da