The Art of Cursing

I never swore until I was out of my teens. Pretty shocking, huh? Let’s just say I was a good girl with my verbiage for most of my early years. As a kid, I never had to suck on a bar of soap like my sister did after being busted for swearing. I did, however, thoroughly enjoy watching her do so. Actually, I shocked myself the first time the word shit slipped from my lips. It felt wrong while at the same time strangely satisfying.

Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not some potty-mouthed person who is addicted to swearing. Please! I’m a nice Catholic girl who attended Church twice a year (Christmas and Easter) and now only for weddings and funerals. Hey, I never said I was perfect, did I?

Having said that, there’s something satisfying about cursing. When someone cuts me off on the freeway, darn it! just doesn’t cut it, you know? In the privacy of my vehicle, where nobody can hear me, I say what I imagine a truck driver might exclaim under similar circumstances. I’m guessing it’s pretty much a regular occurrence in that occupation.

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