There are times in my day when a good curse word just hits the spot.
Like say, when Ellerie undoes her buckle in her car seat for the 27th time in less than one mile, a nice loud, "Shi . . . .it!" gets the job done.
Or when I drop a full pot of water on my toe causing me to look a bit like a drenched rat doing a dance, a "Damn it!" works just fine.
But honestly, that is about the limit of my cursing vernacular. I am a shit or damn girl, only. Thankyouverymuch. Those more colorful words that begin with an F or maybe a C just don't pepper my conversations.
Except for that one time . . .
I was teaching the classic novel, Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain to my bunch of rowdy 7th graders. It was 7th period, the last period of the day, and I had the pleasure of having a class filled with 18 pubescent boys and 3 lovely girls. (No. That is not a typo. 18 boys to only 3 girls. Yikes!) To make matters worse, because of scheduling, the majority of the class had Phys. Ed. right before they came to see me. The class reeked of smelly boy B.O., and more than once I am sure I embarrassed them by having the deodorant talk.
So, my class was smelly, loud and bursting with boys going through puberty.
One afternoon, they were particularly riled up. There was a constant low buzz in the classroom, and more than once I had to tell them to pipe down! Finally, it was time to go over their assignment from the night before. It was a worksheet about Huckleberry Finn.
I stood up in front of the class, cleared my throat, and in my loud and commanding voice stated, "Take out you Fuck Hinn worksheet!"
It took a moment, and then the classroom erupted with laughter. I paused. Replayed my words in my mind, and instantly realized what I had done.
I had dropped an F bomb.
I had transposed the H from Huckleberry and the F from Finn, and thereby said the mother of all curse words in front of a group of hormone riddled boys.
It took a full 10 minutes for the laughter to die down, and all I could think about were all of the parent phone calls that I would have to field.
Miraculously, there was nary a one.
I said a silent prayer of thanks and resolved from that day forward to curse no more. . . except for the occasional shit or damn.
A girl has to have some vices after all.