Monday, October 13, 2014

"Give Me the Fucking Zebra."

Studies show that profanity is stored in a different part of the brain than ordinary speech. Maybe that's why people with Tourette's syndrome curse involuntarily. I don't have Tourette's, or at least I don't fucking think I do. But you'd never know it from the torrent of curse words that comes cascading daily from my mouth. I blame it on being from New York City, where a perfectly common salutation is "Howdafuckahyoudoin'?" Cursing is fine when driving; when alone in my office; after stubbing my toe against a door-frame, etc. But it's less than ideal around my kids, because if it's one thing that's universally offensive and disturbing (albeit hilarious), it's a cursing child. Readers might recall how Isaac reacted to the fact that Monday wasn't a weekend ("Aw, Fuuuuuuuck")! Readers might also recall that Paige likes to quietly mutter things like "shit-head asshole" under her breath to make me mad on purpose. Cursing in our family is directly proportional to the amount of time we spend in the car. I try hard not to curse in front of my kids, but sometimes it just comes Tourette-ing out on its own. 

Like last Sunday when we were waiting in the car while Geoff ran into a store. Paige and Isaac were fighting over a wooden zebra on a string: a toy from one of their infancies that is way too babyish for either one of them and that I should have given away long ago. But because Isaac suddenly took a renewed and fleeting interest in it, its stock with Paige rose considerably to the point that it was now the object of a back-seat tug-of-war. The zebra was hard and wooden (I think I mentioned wooden already) and it was on a string (as I think I also mentioned), which in a car means the zebra was being swung around and knocked about precariously near glass and sensitive parts of faces. This combined with ear-piercing screeches and screams made me turn my head around 360 degrees ala "The Exorcist," yell "GIVE ME THE FUCKING ZEBRA," yank it out of both of their hands, and throw it down on the floor by my feet. The only thing missing from my "Exorcist" impersonation was the projectile vomiting. While this wasn't the first time they've ever seen me do something like this, there are things they've fortunately never seen. Like the time I flipped them the bird behind their backs and silently mouthed: "FUCK YOU ASSHOLES!" after they'd been especially impudent. Somehow, I missed the chapter on this whole thing in "What to Expect When You're Expecting...."

1 comment:

  1. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

    ReplyDelete