I am a trucker's daughter. Apparently, that means I curse a blue streak at the slightest thing. There's no "gosh darn gee whiz" for me. Nope, I go straight for the F-word when life throws me the slightest inconvenience. Pour too much coffee in my cup? Fuck. Drip on the floor? Fuck. Can't find the book I just put down? Fuck.
And I don't even realize I'm speaking at all, let alone cursing. Ed asked me not too long ago, "Do you know you just dropped the F-bomb 8 times in the past few minutes?" My response: "I didn't say anything!"
I don't know if this is a recent development, or if I've always been such a potty mouth. But I need to get out of this bad habit!
1 comment:
Tell me about it. You've met my dad, you know what I'm talking about.
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