I swear

Not really.

Well, OK, sometimes.

But not in front of the kids.

One of the house rules was no swearing. I wanted, still want, a civil home. We definitely were NOT the Waltons. But those kids sure policed their friends in this house. Mr B, on the other hand, was not policeable.

I know my kids cuss with the best of them now.  Even caught one of them using the "F" word on a very funny YouTube video, horror or horrors. But they still keep it clean at home. And I appreciate it.

I had a friend in college whose parents gave her permission to swear all she wanted on one condition: The swear words had to be original. She came up with this: "Ah, sizzlebritches!" Kind of fizzles if you ask me. Just doesn't have the bite-your-bottom-lip-and-let-'er-rip blast that goes with "f."

As for me, most of the time "Shahzbat" does the trick. Kinda like this (19 seconds in):


Image by O2b


Erin Davis said…
I'm afraid the language in my house gets a bit salty at times, what with two teen-age boys and a husband who is no help. My middle son Jack has always been creative with name-calling. When he was two and mad at me, he called me Ostrich Butt.
Rudee said…
I have always considering swearing an art form. My nephew told me last summer that he recalls the year he was seven and swore in front of me. He was mortified the f bomb had slipped from his tongue. He expected to be yelled at but he wasn't. He was told it was just a word and like other words, if he was going to use it, then he had to do so in a sentence. That's what he recalls 14 years later. Since that memory makes him smile, I'd say that was a job well done. Two out of three of my children rarely curse in front of me and the third can't speak, so I think we did OK.

Shahzbat always did remind me of the German term for a word that seems to have much the same meaning.
Pyzahn said…
I said the "f" word in front of my mother for the first time just last year...and we're talking me as in middle-aged, mom as in senior years.

We were in the parking lot at K-Mart and some bozo pulled in front of me. Not only did I let out an F*** You, but I flipped him the bird at the same time. My mother nearly fainted.

"Paaaatricia! What if I see him inside the store?", she asked in a horrified voice.

"Tell him he's a putz," I replied.

She still gets a little white knuckled when we're driving in a parking lot. But I feel fairly emancipated.

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