The Art of Swearing

I remember being a young girl. Probably eleven or twelve years old when I urgently had to use the facilities at K-Mart as soon as mom had herded my brother, sister and I through the front doors. Back then there was no unisex bathroom where my mom, my sister, little brother and I could pile up into as I did my business because everyone knew what gender their fluid was back in those days. Being the eldest, mom decided to send me in alone as she and my sibs waited for me outside. As I hovered over the seat (no touching for me as I was a germophobe for as far back as I can remember) I noticed a word I had yet to read before. FUCK. It said other stuff too, it actually said for a GOOD FUCK call Lisa and there was a phone number. I hurriedly finished my business, got a fresh dry paper towel after washing my hands and copied what was written on the bathroom stall wall verbatim with my trusty red, blue and black clicker ink pen. I was on to something. This girl Lisa had a bunch of GOOD fucks, and since they were good and I didn’t think I owned any FUCKS AND we were at K-Mart, I decided to loudly proclaim my desire to have a GOOD FUCK from what I assumed was the toy department. All of the good stuff was in the toy department. Right?!? So I was convinced that was exactly where I could find the GOOD FUCKS at.

As I was not so quietly begging my mom for a whole bunch of GOOD FUCKS, she went white as freshly fallen snow, snatched her purse and my toddler sister out of the buggy and said “Let’s go. NOW!”

Neither my little brother nor eye could understand what the hell was going on as we sat in the back seat of mom’s station wagon staring at each other with wide eyes.

Once we got home mom sent my siblings into the backyard to play and tried to calmly explain to me that not only was that an ugly word…..it was the ugliest of words in the English language. Defensively I said “but those FUCKS were GOOD!!” So I got my mouth washed out with soap and grounded from going out to play with my neighborhood friends. In my tweenage rebellious mind I knew I had hit fucking paydirt. As soon as dad got home I got another lecture and a minor ass whipping (by minor I mean no belt was involved). By the time my punishment was up I was positively brimming with questions for my friends, two of which happened to be a couple of years older and boys. They told me ALL about those fucks and why I got my ass beat over giving one. From that day forward I have consciously incorporated that and a plethora of other equally shocking words into my vocabulary.

So that is the way my profanity story began, the rest is history, and I’m still wondering what poor ole Lisa did with all of those GOOD FUCKS she gave😂

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