I swear a lot.
Nothing compared to Australians, but I raised all five daughters to be comfortable with swearing so they could be comfortable being hockey players, engineers or whatever they wanted to be.
Still, some people are shocked, like a middle-aged woman whom I read a brief e-mail exchange with my 20-year-old daughter that went something like, “why didn’t you answer my fu**ing facebook message”, to which I said “I don’t like chatting over fu**ing facebook, just send fu**ing e-mail. I’m old like that.”
Good times.
You may not have noticed, but barfblog.com has become pretty much independent, so you can expect more swearing. It won’t appeal to everyone, but after seven years of no real declines in foodborne illness rates, maybe someone should be swearing more.
Which sorta feeds into this parable.
On my 90-minute walk to meet my Dean today, I had to jump a creek that flowed off the Big Blue River.
By the time I got to the restaurant, I realized I had lost my reading glasses.
I got a ride home, had a nap, and then decided to recreate my route in the vague hope I may stumble across my lost glasses, or buy a cheap set of reading glasses at Wal-Mart until my next optometrist appointment.
I again jumped the same creek and again got a wet foot and scraped shins. But as I raised myself from the shame of age, there they were – my glasses, exactly where I had landed previously in the day.
What once was lost has now been found.
I used to sing Tennessee Stud to my 25-year-old when I was changing her diapers.