I miss hard words coming out of my mouth.  Once upon a time before I was able to spout fairy tales of rainbows and princesses riding unicorns to their coronation as queen of utopia I was the kind of girl that could cuss a blue streak.  I’d make a sailor blush, or a trucker, or something.  I’m sure there’s someone I could make blush with just the use of my verbal abilities.  I know I made a few bikers blush a time or two.

I miss the sharp language that would spring from my delicate lips each time I heard something amazing or stubbed my toe.

Something happened when my daughter first began that childish imitation of speech.  When she started trying to say “Mama, Daddy, Scooby Doo” I became not just conscious but extremely sensitive about the decorum of my speech.  After all… a two year old saying “Mother fucker” is only cute the first few times…

What is it about those words… stronger than a shot of grain alcohol, that I find so pleasing to wrap my tongue around.

I’ve trained myself not to use them most of the time.  Taught myself that keeping clean, verbally speaking, is the way to go.  You know how I learned to cuss?  Watching my dad work on the car.  I remember when I was just a little thing, maybe 4 or 5.  We were living in Texas and I’d be out in the yard skipping, dancing, playing, avoiding snakes and the red neck’s dogs and my daddy would have the hood open on our old car.  As he leaned inside it tinkering, checking, maybe duct taping things I’d hear streams of such awesome profanity.

I knew they were words I shouldn’t use but I would still try to wrap my mind around them.  Find ways to work them into my vocabulary as I sat alone in the tall weeds behind our house or stalked my fluffy gray cat around the yard.

Oh beautiful wonderous fucking fabulous obscenities… I miss you.