Profanity "Lite"

I adore profanity. I really do. There’s just nothing like the feeling of letting loose with a really robust four-, five- or six-letter word describing some bodily function, sexual organ or (most commonly for me) the biological imperative. It’s like punching a hole in the wall, or kicking a clump of turf across the yard. It’s an actual physical release.

And, goddamnit, some days I just need it.

Men get to express their anger and frustration in all sorts of physical ways; they have sporting events (whether they are participating or simply hollering at their TV sets), hobbies (hunting comes to mind) and a thousand other diversions that permit them to release their anger in any number of socially acceptable ways. Women, on the other hand, have far fewer of these.

Personally, I find that screaming “FUCKER!!” at the top of my lungs as I drive around the lovely person who’s just drifted into my lane while endeavoring to dial a cell phone works pretty well for me. Calms me right the fuck down. So fucking shoot me.

There’s just one problem with my love of profanity, and my penchant for spewing it at my fellow drivers in particular: I have two small children, at least one of whom is in the car with me as much as 90% of the time. This presents a major problem for me. Not a minor can’t-make-the-mortgage-gonna-lose-the-house sort of problem. A MAJOR freakin’ problem. (By the way, “freakin” just doesn’t do it for me. I need the bleep-able version.)

So, as I have frequently done when faced with similar problems, I just negotiated myself a little solution. And now, when I feel the need to metaphorically crush the skull of someone who’s just stolen the last available parking space on 38th Street, I let loose with what I like to call “Lite” Profanity. Basically, I decided that my kids can handle a small amount of well-chosen, judiciously-applied profanity, especially if it means that Mommy will feel better and not crash the car into the nearest available postal box. Simply put, I have reserved to myself two profane words from among those that I consider to be marginally “kid-friendly”: crap and jackass.

And if I’ve ruined them for life, I’ll just have to live with the guilt. Jackass!