While we’re on the subject of frowned upon language, I will admit, I curse like the proverbial sailor.
No, I was not raised that way and yes, I kiss my mother’s cheek with this mouth – whenever it’s not otherwise occupied by being washed out with soap…
Cursing is my way of relieving stress. It’s my way of alerting the Universe that I’m not particularly pleased right now and could it please show me what I’m missing?
I’m certain the Universe scurries to answer whenever my voice cries, “WTF?” over the vast regions of space…
You may disagree and that’s your right…
In my childhood, I was expected to take the Word Power test featured in the Reader’s Digest each month. You know the one, a list of 20 words and multiple choice of what the word means.
The household I grew up in also placed a high premium on reading and a well-rounded vocabulary – those who cursed were deemed as too ignorant to better express themselves.
Hmm… so if I have a good vocabulary, then I can cuss, right?
And so, over the years, working in arenas that rewarded, rather than disdained, coarse language, I learned how to foul, filth, flairn with the best of them. I would include one curse word with three or four words most people don’t use in everyday language, just to mess with people.
I once said, “I’ve never heard of anything so asinine” in the hearing of a co-worker that hated me saying ‘damn’. She flew into me, citing, “Well, that’s just dandy, you even make up your own cuss words.”
I must say, I believe she felt rather asinine when I informed her that it was a real word and the definition meant ‘obstinate or stupid’.
But one thing both I and others who know me have learned – –
If I’m still cussing, you’re safe…
In my early twenties, it dawned on me that if I was really, really in a temper, my speech was very, well, tempered. Cool and calm, big words slid out of my mouth to inform the object of my displeasure in no uncertain terms that while they had every right to their opinion, they had ruined their chances with me and that should they find themselves conflagrant, I would not deign to convey a molecule of humectation to assist in extinguishing the ravaging of their viscera.
(Translation – I wouldn’t cross the street to pee on you if your guts were on fire.)
As long as I was cursing and asking the gods just what, exactly, was going on, I was still in a place where reason, logic and a debate could ensue to correct whatever the issue was.
If the cursing stopped, the debate was over and I was done – Forever.
I then realized, sometime in my thirties, that some folks do not take your displeasure seriously unless you curse. Over the years, I’ve logically and calmly, using good vocabulary, explained to various people what exactly the issue is as I see it and cheerfully asked how we might go about correcting it.
For some, until I said, “I’ve tried every reasonable way I know how to explain that what you promised, you did not deliver – but apparently, you aren’t f**cking getting it, so patch me through to your supervisor, unless you want to take the ass chewing yourself.”
This, unfortunately, has gotten results.
Which means my cursing habit has been long reinforced.
I’m not a fan of always cursing when you can get your point across better in other ways.
My kids know they aren’t allowed to curse until they’ve demonstrated a wide and varied vocabulary, coupled with sincere attempts to communicate in a calm and logical fashion…
But I will say, cursing has it’s place and it will be a cold day in hell when I stop saying f**k.