Me and my potty mouth

November 15th, 2011

This is as good a time as any to tell you, gentle readers, that the hubby and I are (finally, cautiously, JOYOUSLY) expecting a bambino in early 2012. It’s been a long, often heartbreaking road getting here, but we’re so tickled to become parents. In the spirit of parenthood and all of the surprises it will bring, we’ve chosen not to find out the baby’s gender ahead of time. Truthfully, we don’t care what we get – it’d be an honor to have either, the nursery is already gender-neutral, and we’re too lazy (and afraid of paint-fumes) to re-paint.

Anyway, today, while running late for an appointment, I got stuck behind THE SLOWEST MOTHERF*CKING DRIVER in the history of the automobile. This assface was driving 2 miles an hour and I, late for my appointment and impatient by nature, screamed at this driver for FOUR FLOORS of the parking structure.

Things I shouted at the car in front of me that I would never want my kid to hear me say:

“I hate you so much.”

“Nope, not a spot, you f*ckbag, unless you really ARE handicapped.”

“You suck d*cks for a living.”

It was after that last one that I realized: might be a good idea to clean up the language well-ahead of the Bambino’s entrance into the world. Heaven forbid his/her first word be “c*cksucker.”

So, new words to help me transition: Fuzz You! Sharkface! Anthole!

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