I don't swear much. Well, I do, but it's just bottom drawer sort of swearing. Bloody this and Damn that. Oh for God's Sake! this and Bugger that. (What? WHAT??) This isn't to say that I mind it when other people swear—I don't mind a really boiling curse, as long as it is delivered at the appropriate time and with confidence.

Confidence is the crux of my problem. When I swear, I feel like I do when I'm wearing a wide-brimmed red hat. Or enormous earrings. Or sunglasses with rhinestones. Or all at once! Imagine that. On someone else: charming; on me: ridiculous. When I swear, I feel like I'm on stage, delivering a line... badly. The timing is off. I feel like I have invisible finger quotes in spasm above my head.

I can't even manage it in writing. (And don't even suggest those censorious asterisks.) Lucky for you. You can send the kids here and feel quite safe—they're in good hands.


Zootenany Hoodlum said...

Better yet send the kids here, where they will be taught to swear with wild abandom. No wavering lack of confidence to be found on this Mama.

Darren said...

You would not *believe* the language you would hear in a Bay Street trading room. Not just the profanity, but the *volume*!

I always liked swearing, but now I'm even better: I swear with verve, authority, and confidence. It's nice to be able to lob the occasional f-bomb at the workplace without censoring myself. (I wanted to leave a humourous cuss word in Zoot's comments but was unsure how that would go over). I enjoy it, as a powerful spice in the linguistic kitchen.

However, dumping half a pound of paprika on your pork chops is way too much, and dropping the f-bomb in every sentence, as is often done in small town BC, is also too much.

Mark Hanington said...

You never did swear much, nor well. I am thinking to demand a paternity test.