So, honesty hour: I can be a bit sweary.
Not a lot these days. But a little bit. In my defence, I have three children under four, and sometimes this alone leaves me in a state where expletives just escape my mouth at random.
Not at them obviously, but perhaps under my breath occasionally. Or after they’ve gone to bed in a cathartic purge of the days repressed dose of “are you fucking kidding me????” Or when my neighbour inadvertently catches me swigging $5 cooking wine from the bottle (it’s not what it sounds like, it’s not…!!! I was trying to sterilise my mouth after accidentally eating some raw chicken. Ok that sounds like a lie. But it’s not! I am just that ridiculous).
Sometimes at my husband. Or when Justin Bieber comes on the radio. Once in front of my mother in law; that was as bad an idea as it sounds.
Since having children, however, I have made a concerted effort to swear a lot less. Post-children in our household, there is a lot less fucking (oh stop it!!) and a lot less shit (hang on a minute…) Something seems very wrong with that sentence… but I’m going to leave it with you.
Anyway, I’ve worked really hard on my Jimmy Giggle approved, G-rated vocabulary because I really would prefer that none of my kids be that one in the playground yelling that it’s his turn to go on the fucking swing.
I’m a writer. I love words, I love composing them, playing with them. Using them against my husband three months after he’s said them, etc. There are over one million words in the English language, and yes, sometimes one can (and does) come across as the lowest common denominator when choosing an obscenity as an adjective.