“You’re the only person I know who says ‘flippin‘”, she said across the crowded restaurant table.
“Wha—?”, I said, lost in some story I was telling.
“You just said ‘flippin‘ again. Do you often use that term?”, she continued.
“Well. . .as a matter of fact. . . yes. ‘Flippin‘ is my safe replacement for the more offensive f-word–the one that my children would be sharing with their playmates if I didn’t keep my trash-mouth in check.“
Continuing on, I explained that I didn’t start with flippin‘. Frankly, I think flippin‘ is a bit weak. But, when I tried to use friggin‘, I found out that there are downsides: when Belly was 2, she sat down to dinner with my sister and mom. She picked up a piece of chicken, put it to her lips, threw it to the plate and announced, “That chicken is friggin‘ hot!”
Yeah, funny, but not so cute on a two-year-old. So, flippin‘ became my “safe curse” of choice.
After I had finished sharing my explanation, the conversation turned into a sharing of embarrassing child-cursing stories among the women seated at my table. There were some amusing tales, and I felt like we had all learned some valuable lessons. I drove home bopping along to The Rockafeller Skank on my Fatboy Slim CD and thought about trying to curse less in front of the kids.
This afternoon, I strapped the kids into the minivan, turned on the ignition and started to reverse when I realized I had forgotten something upstairs. I ran up two flights of stairs, grabbed what I had forgotten and then ran back down to the car. I jumped into my seat and started to reverse again when my brain registered what was playing on the car stereo.
This is what I had left for the children to listen to while I ran into the house (not safe for work, or for kids, incidentally).
I’m going to have to start saying Oh Golly Gosh and Goodness Gracious to redeem myself. And lock up my CD collection.
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