curses

I curse. A lot. Recent studies indicate cursers are smarter and more honest. Yes! Let’s go with that. I can’t remember the first time I heard someone curse, or the first time I cursed. I do remember cursing with my friends on the bus, the words spitting out of my mouth. Curse words are often sharp, their sounds like punches. Shit, fuck, damn, they all have a nice staccato sound. The longer words are melodic, rolling off the tongue: motherfucker, sonofabitch. Is that what I liked about cursing? Or was it the lure of the forbidden? It’s been too long for me to tell. What is certain is that I took to cursing like Donald Trump lies. Like Trump, now I can’t seem to help myself, even if I wanted. The curses burst out, a sort of verbal tic. I can rein it in for a short period of time, but then something usually happens.

There are instances where, to me, curses are not only appropriate, but called for. When I was in the sixth grade, I was with my mom at the stable. I led my horse, Duchess, out of the stall to groom her. She was a crafty old mare, and she liked to push me into the fence or the walls when I made her do something she didn’t like. This time there was a nail protruding from one of the boards, the curved tip angled perfectly to snag the tender skin above my bicep clean through. “Damn!” I said, a perfectly reasonable response to being caught like a fish on a hook. “Damn, damn, damn!” It hurt, you see. I can so clearly remember my mother’s response. “Melissa! There’s no need to curse!” If I had the presence of mind, and the balls, I would have said what I was thinking: if ever there was a need to curse, this was it. So, being hurt. When else? Driving. I could no more drive without cursing than I could go without food and water. Other drivers drive me to cursing. Sorry about the pun, but really, if I wasn’t cursing, I’d be apoplectic with rage. Cursing relieves the pain of a stubbed toe or bacon grease burn. Saying ‘fuck’ over and over is my pain om. Cursing is a handy skill during sex, too, the dialectical cousin of talking dirty. I curse to express my joy, as in “I’m so fucking happy right now.” I could say “I’m so happy”, but would you know how happy I really am? I think not…

What about the children, some might ask. I say children need to learn when it is appropriate to curse. My mom, a natural born lady, cursed twice in my lifetime that I can remember. My dad wanted to curse around us kids. He chose not to, so he made up words. ‘Poodletoot’ and ‘razzlefratz’ were the two I remember best. I use both words to this day. I asked Katie if my cursing affected her, and did I curse more than her. She laughed and said she loves to curse. She also said she curses way more than me. Take that anyway you’d like. Maybe it’s in our gene pool. She also said she curses when she’s sad, mad, hurt or happy. I didn’t ask her if she curses during sex. TMI.

I know, I know, some curses take the Lord’s name in vain. I understand that. I’m also sensitive to others and respect their wishes when I’m around them. However, those words hold no power over me, because I’m not religious. It’s like learning curse words in a foreign language, the childish delight partly because the words don’t mean anything to me. There are some curse words I don’t like. C*@t that rhymes with punt is reserved for the lowest of the low for me. I have some perennial faves, but I love it when I hear a variation on a classic. ‘Asswipe’ became my go-to word three or four years ago. I’m not sure why, seemed right for the times, I suppose.

This may be the first blog in a very long while that hasn’t had something about Lyme disease. To me, this is YUGE! Maybe I am getting used to my new normal. I can’t remember if my cursing habits changed at all while I was really sick. I wasn’t driving and I was alone, talking to myself, a good deal of the time. It wouldn’t surprise me if I cursed myself out. Wait, I think I did curse, especially when I lost my mind. I remember calling myself a stupid bitch any time I did something irrational, which was quite often.

Good cursing is an art. I get a thrill when I hear a well-placed curse word. I like the way curses enhance the impact of a statement. I will continue to curse, enthusiastically and vociferously. I’m also going to continue to buy in on the studies that say I’m smarter and more honest, even if they’re total bullshit. Because that’s the way I fucking roll.

 

 

Print Friendly, PDF & Email
Share

Leave a Reply