Potty Mouth

Cussing typically isn't in my vocabulary's repertoire. But lately, I've had a few choice words for certain situations. And I've realized that once you open the floodgates of profanity, it's hard to shut them off. So it's taken concerted efforts to clean out my mouth with a proverbial bar of soap. Blech.

This morning offered me validation of these efforts.

I had just poured my awake juice ... aka coffee. Freshly ground beaners, delicious half and half, a whole lot of yum. I took a sip and sauntered to the bathroom to finish prepping my head for work. As I brought the flat iron across my body to reach the frizzies on the right side of my dome, the cord decides to give my coffee mug a nudge. And a nudge was all it needed to go tumbling into the sink. And there goes my motivation, right down the drain. My piping hot motivation ... gone.

It all happened so quickly. And here was how the audible response went, "FFFFFFFFFFFFFF.... Fart!!" No censoring, folks. I actually said, "fart" instead of the other f-word.

The best part? The boyfriend yelled in from the bedroom, with closed door, "I'm proud of you for saying 'fart'."