I did it yesterday. I accidentally dropped the bomb.
I let the S word slip from my mouth in front of the children as I was driving them to school. My son immediately picked up on my mistake and began gleefully using it so expertly, I almost believed he comprehended the import of what I had just done.
I had just corrupted my children.
You must understand the level of shame and guilt I felt. I am not one of those mothers! In fact, I barely can drop those kinds of bombs with the saltiness and blasé attitude one would expect from someone accustomed to dropping said bombs. My mouth wraps in a weird way around the words. It sounds hesitant and unnatural. It is embarrassingly awkward, completely defeating the purpose of spewing it.
Let me explain- I grew up in a very proper home. I was taught very early on, that the essence of femininity was exemplified in a skirt wearing, daintily eating, never burping, always smelling like roses, properly enunciated woman who cooked, cleaned, always crossed her legs and the golden rule: NEVER CUSSED.
Swearing and cussing was for them. Those salty crass women, who never hesitated to let you know what was on their mind. In my childhood home, they were the antithesis of femininity. But oh, how I wanted to be salty. I wanted to let it rip with the best of them. You see to me, to be salty meant I was not a feeble weak pushover resorting to pathetic euphemisms. It meant that there would not be any burning tears glistening in my eyes at the slightest insult or hurt. It meant that when I was angry, I would brazenly hurl foul allegories tinged with acid, instead of apologetically asking for a tissue.
But I digress. Let me tell you what happened.
I was driving them to school, it was raining and some bozo tried to cut me off. Tell me- Why is it when it rains, all of the bozos magically appear? You know them- they are the ones who seem to have no understanding of the concept of HYDROPLANE. They are the ones who think they can still speed in the rain, cut in front of you without signaling, or tail you impatiently by the nose-hairs. I know there are bozos out there when it is not raining. But I truly believe that when it begins to rain, they come out in sheer numbers to band together to threaten harried mothers like me!
It doesn’t help that I hate to drive in the rain or that I am so keenly aware of my precious cargo in the back. It doesn’t help that half the time my attention is torn between the road and whatever complaint is raging in the car either.
So when Bozo cut me off royally, he also started a chain reaction. Starting with: 1. me stepping on the brakes, 2. thereby causing my heart to get stuck in my throat, 3. while my mind was screaming- “please don’t hydroplane!” and 4. corrupting my children as I dropped the "S' bomb.
I didn’t even think to cover it with the usual sugar honey ice tea costume I usually dress it up in, or call him by the euphemistic 411 on carnal knowledge. It just slipped out pure and unadulterated. (Can those two concepts co-exist with bombs?) Despite my guilt, I couldn't ignore the smugness I felt, knowing I delved into saltiness. For a second- I was one of them.
But getting back to my son- he immediately chastised me and said “Mommy! You said Sh*t. You are not supposed to say Sh*t! I am going to tell my teacher you said Sh*t. Mommy saying Sh*t is a really bad word. Mommy I am grounding you for saying Sh*t!”
I was suddenly snapped back to my shameful, and remorseful reality.
Wondering when I started uttering salty words? That is another story.........