I swear...alot. I know, you're shocked.
However, I do no swear at work. I do not swear in the company of certain people (you know, those people that have sticks shoved so far up their arse they couldn't remove it even if they wanted to). No, I'm not saying swearing makes you cool. Sometimes life deals you a hand and the only way to really express how you feel is to go "FUUUUUUUUCCCCCK" and then plunge in head first to try and rectify the issue.
My point is, I know when my potty mouth needs to be reigned in. There are certain places and time in life where one must act like a lady.
Except when I'm stressed, like really stressed, I swear without realizing I'm doing it. Some people have tics, some people drink, others suffer from gastrointestinal issues when stressed. I curse at the most inappropriate times when I'm freaked.
Take for instance when a cardiologist tells you your mother needs triple bypass surgery, "Well FUCK me." probably isn't the most appropriate response and I can guarantee it will earn you a raised eyebrow from the doc.
Last year I did a brief (6 months) stint as an Executive Director for a non profit organization that's mandate is to promote trades and technology to high school students. Long story short it involved a National conference with over 1200 delegates and participants and yours truly organizing it. So during the week of the conference I was working 20 hour days, I had my crackberry surgically attached to my ear, and I was tired by day 4. Like dog tired. So when the Executive Director from another province said to me on day 4 "We haven't seen you at the evening get togethers" I really didn't mean to respond with "I don't have time for fucking pajama parties". I really didn't, it just came out.
When a pediatrician tells you your son, who is ONE day old, may have a brain impediment because of the port wine birth mark on his face you probably shouldn't respond with, "Are you fucking serious?" Yeah, because pediatricians joke about that shit ALL the time.
When you have a roomful of pediatric neurosurgeons/neurologists (no, my kids haven't always been the robust healthy little fuckers they are today) tell you they have no idea what's causing your three year old daughter's neurological system to shut down - responding with "Oh dear mother fucking sweet jesus" - ok I get a pass on that one. What was I supposed to do, cry?
See? Extreme stress equals inappropriate use of my potty mouth. Fuck seems to be the word of choice with me.
How do you handle stress?
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