In just a few days my new “Swear Jar” had twelve $1 bills. Each one deposited after I dropped foul language in the house after I was assaulted by some microaggression like kids wearing white socks on the gravel driveway as if they were #@&! hiking boots! Hello! Small people in this house – pay attention – WHITE SOCKS ARE NOT GDAMN SHOES!!! Geezus! There I go again. $13 #chaching Kids, don’t be alarmed if your piggy banks are cracked open cuz Daddy just needs to reload on singles.
Of course, my kids got a kick out of busting me every time I let one slip. Six-year-old Callan James gleefully reporting, “Mommy! Daddy said ‘Goddit Damage’ again when Max pooped on the carpet he just shampooped! Get it! ‘ShamPOOPED!’‘ Yeah, hello, #notlaughing, #notfunny! Seriously, does anyone have ANY sympathy for the dangerously high blood pressure this is creating in my 51-year-old super lean muscularly ripped body?!? (OK, I had to slip that in just for fun!)
Then the pièce de résistance occurred a few days ago when twelve-year-old Marley poured herself a really big glass of White Cranberry Juice. The kinda juice that’s really sticky if it should ever spill all over the #@%$ countertops and then drip down the &*%$# drawer handles all over the #_ _ _ _ _ ing white ceramic floors where the dogs will walk thru it and track it all over the $%^&!!! house. Just after she poured the super large glass of juice that’s way too big for a 12-year old anyway… the. cat. appeared. Meow!
Meandering its way between cereal boxes, juice glasses, and iPhones on the countertop I could foresee it like a GDAMN Svengali. And then, like in slow motion, where my voice is really really deep, I calmly said, “Watch…out…for….the….juice….and…the….damn…..cat….!” Two seconds later. BOOM! TOO F#&*ING late!!!!! Cat proceeded to spill the ginormous juice glass like it was friggin’ Niagra Falls! And, self-knowing my enormous propensity to spew dollar bills like a possessed ATM, I decided to simply walk out of the room. I calmly opened the door to the pool patio and stood there…. breathing, yoga-like, as if I was giving birth to 10 pound triplets.
The funny thing is that it actually felt really good simply to stay calm and not lose my sh!t over spilled juice. “Don’t cry over spilled, juice!”, I whispered to myself. No, let the crying, wailing, gnashing of teeth, and swearing-like-Marine-Drill-Sergeant happen when you can hear that juice sticking to the bottom of your Crocs as you walk all over the @#$! kitchen. That’s when you should do some really loud scream therapeutic swearinglikeamothertrucker while the kids are at school.
Q: If a SAHD swears in the house and no one hears it, does it still cost a dollar?
A: Hell no!!