I thought food was my favorite four-letter word until I heard a tape-recording of myself.
I guess I fancy other ones.
I feel as though I should bill myself as bilingual, I`m so adept in obscenities.
A college friend once dubbed me ”Lynnbad the Sailor.”
It`s one thing to swear. It`s another to hear yourself swear.
It sounds awful.
So I`m trying to say ”darn it” and ”gosh dang.”
I feel as if I`m Mary Ellen Walton, but I sound better.
I can`t remember when I said my first bad word, but I know I chewed an Ivory soap bar on more than one occasion.
”Where do you hear these things?” my mother would ask (a pointless question, I might add, because we could hear my father out in the shop).
”X$Z!%-!!,” he would say to some uncooperative piece of machinery that refused to weld correctly.
”Come on, you X$Z!%-!!”
Trucks that wouldn`t start, women drivers, animals that refused to be corralled, toes that bumped against coffee-table legs, cigarettes accidentally lit on the wrong end and children who didn`t obey their parents were among the objects of his profanity.
It took years for the nuns to convince me that Jesus didn`t have a middle name. My Dad always used a middle initial.
”Nobody likes a girl who swears,” Dad would say when words spewed from my mouth.
It took me years to realize they don`t sound any better when a man says them.
Comedian George Carlin used to regale audiences with his ”seven dirty words you can`t say on television” routine.
My classmates and I would repeat the words for hours after we figured out which seven he was concentrating on.
When I moved to the Southwest, I begged the locals to teach me Spanish. They complied.
When I tried out my new vocabulary, I received shocked stares.
Someone felt compelled to warn me about the first words someone usually learns in another language.
”Do you know what that means?” he asked.
”Yes, it means `goat,` ” I said proudly.
He couldn`t stop laughing.
”I swear,” I said.
