Fiddlesticks Just Doesn’t Cut It

My regular readers and my family are aware that I don’t shy away from using swear words. I don’t (usually) do it around children, and it’s not like I encourage it in others, but I’m not afraid to drop a few choice phrases when the situation dictates. Studies have actually shown that uttering swear words eases pain. The reality is that in certain instances, other words just won’t do. And my grandma can cuss with the best of them. And my dad. Hopefully it will skip a generation.

Case in point. Tonight Cameron had football practice. I edited some photography at a coffee shop while he practiced. In that time my husband called me to “tattle” on our children, then called me because he wanted me to pick up ice cream sandwiches for the same children. So after practice Cameron and I went to Super Target, and he proceeded to whine at me as we walked in the door because I wouldn’t buy him baseball cards or some other thing he wanted. Then, against my strict orders, because I planned this to be a quick in-and-out trip, and didn’t want to spend 15 minutes looking for him when I was ready to leave, he disappeared, presumably to go off looking at video games or movies.

So when it’s 8:30, and I’m annoyed with a kid, and haven’t eaten dinner, and just want to go home, and the cheap paper grocery bag rips as I’m putting it into the back of the van, foul language is definitely on the table. And here’s why.

I grab the handles of the bag, and it suddenly tears as I’m lifting it out of the cart. I could say exactly what I’m thinking, which is, “Wow! That really surprised me, and not in a good way!”

But, really, it’s more of a feeling, and what most properly articulates both the intellectual and emotional, is:

“Sonofabitch!”

And when I assess the situation, and realize that the bag has ripped more than halfway down, and is completely unsalvageable, I could say that, but what more effectively expresses my abject frustration is:

“Goddammit.”

Then, when I am forced to jam items into other bags that are already full, and find a way to safely transfer the damaged bag and its contents to the van, pure anger takes over, and there is no better way to get it all out than by saying:

“Ffffffuck.”

As I’m implementing this plan I’m now irritated that the stupid cashier put all the moist frozen foods in one bag, precipitating the breakage. And also annoyed at the shoddiness of these bags in general. And my utter disdain can be summed up in one word, muttered under my breath:

“Christ.”

And that, my friends, is why I swear. Also going through my mind during all of this was The Big Bang Theory’s Dr. Sheldon Cooper’s analysis of his neighbor, Penny’s situation, strikingly similar to mine. “I believe the condensation on your frozen foods weakened the structural integrity of the bag.”

And her response. “Oh sonofabitch!”

© Jennifer Alys Windholz, 2012

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2 thoughts on “Fiddlesticks Just Doesn’t Cut It

  1. I too am a swearer, can’t help it, it just slips out. Kinda bad since I work at our church as the secretary. LOL I remember when Molly was about 3 years old and I had been at a church meeting and had to take her along because Bill had to work late. The meeting did not go well and when I got home, Bill was already home. Went to open the door and it was locked. I muttered “Why did Daddy lock the f-ing door?” while digging for my keys that I had dropped into my bag. When we finally got in the house, Molly stated to Bill, “Why did you lock the f-ing door?” Oops out of the mouths of babes. :-/

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