Well, that explains it

Howdy, friends.

I saw this link today, a study that says Ohioans curse more than others — my home state earned “sailor” status.

The first time I swore in front of my dad — who has a major, MAJOR potty mouth — I was pouring boiling water into a teacup. I also was turned and talking to him, and poured it all on my foot, by accident.

What came out of my mouth started with “mother” and ended with something else.

My dad sat there, smoking a cigarette at our kitchen table, and started laughing.

“That hurt?”

Heck yes, it did. It really hurt. You pour boiling water on your foot and see if you don’t say something unseemly. That calls for more than a “oh goodness,” and I don’t care who you are.

I’ve had a trucker mouth ever since. That’s actually an insult to truckers.

My name is Jacqueline, and I curse all the time. I don’t even think about it. A lot of times I don’t realize it until I see a look pass over someone’s face — someone who doesn’t approve. I always feel bad — it’s not on purpose. It just comes out. I come by it honestly — my dad can’t get through a sentence about the weather without a few f-bombs and more.

Still, I know I need to curb it, and do try. It comes out more when I’m super cranky or frustrated. Or really excited and happy. Not everyone appreciates it, and I often forget people can hear me when I talk to myself. Out loud. (Which I get from my mom.)

I’ve worked really hard to not swear around Jack and Viv. Or when I teach a spin class at the gym. I’ve traded in some great curse words for “Holy cannoli” and “Good grief.” But it slips here and there — and Jack once walked by my conservative in-laws saying “Goddamnit,” which was horrifying.

They’re from Minnesota, which scored slightly worse (better?) than my current state of South Dakota.

There’s no real point to this post. Just like there’s no real point to cursing.

Still. I love Ohio. Home of rock-n-roll and the F-bomb. Yeah baby.

 

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One Response to Well, that explains it

  1. JeniW says:

    In my family, as I was growing up, cursing was a part of everyday life. Every sentence included at least one cuss word. One time I dropped the f-bomb in the presence of my father. He told me that was not nice to talk that way. I reminded him of his use of the same word. He stammered, then said “yeah, but it still not nice.” I learned to stop cursing when I started to paying close attention to the actual words that my teachers were using. They never needed to use cuss words in order to communicate, at least not during school hours.

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