My Mom HATES f-bombs.
[You should know what an f-bomb is, but on the very, very off chance you don’t, here is a definition. You’re Welcome.]
As I was saying, my Mom HATES the f-bomb. She doesn’t say it and she doesn’t want anyone else around her to say it either. She is the unofficial f-bomb monitor in the family, gently chiding her nieces and nephews (and daughter) whenever they (I) use one.
She has a point. I certainly do not subscribe to her f-bomb ban in my personal life, but I do strive to refrain from spouting out f-bombs in her presence. [Really, it’s much safer that way.]
I am very judicious in choosing just when I’ll layout the f-bomb online or in public. So you know that when I do post something with the f-word in it, I mean business. It packs more punch.
Please note, my Mom isn’t against swearing. She has been known to lay out some colorful language in her time. Just not the f-word. No f-bombs from Dottie.
My Father, who I know swore like sailor at times, never said the f-word in front of me. I am sure I would remember it. I know he did in front my brother, but not me. My Dad was fairly progressive in a lot of ways, I was more than welcome to tag along with the boys on hunting and camping trips, he and my mother shared household chores – including cleaning and cooking, but no f-bombs in front of women. That makes me sad, a bit. But I get it.
Mom told me the other day that in all the time they were married he only said the f-word once. One time. And he apologized profusely afterward. I think that’s amazing.
[No f-bombs were used in this message.]
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