Ahhh, Ash Wednesday. The beginning of Lent, and the beginning of good Catholics everywhere trying to follow up with a promise to give something up or do something extra to make us better, healthier people and to remember the 40 days in the desert. Since I wasn't raised Catholic, I am always tempted to plead Protestantism here and just eat meat on Fridays and live it up like I used to before I was tempted to the dark side. But I suppose I should give some kind of atonement a try.
In years past, Jason and I have given up Coke (difficult), red meat (more difficult), and beer (most difficult.) Sometimes we team up so as to support each other; sometimes we go it alone. This year I am breaking free from the food and drink categories and trying to give up something Jason doesn't really struggle with: cursing.
I am a potty mouth. I do pretty good at not unleashing the f-bombs while my kid's around, but after she's in bed, I pepper my language with expletives. My mother is a world-class cusser (but with her accent, she can make even the worst vulgarity somehow seem charming), and I inherited her gift for colorful language when under duress. But it's gotten a little out of hand, and I need to tone it down a bit. When my 4-letter-word-lovin' mother recently told me, after I complained that a recent development in my life was a bunch of "effin' bull----," that I needed to watch my language, well, that was a wake-up call.
I guess I better brush up on all my foul-language sub words. So long, cathartic strings of f-bombs; hello, "darn, dang, shoot, crap, heck, butt, frick, and frack."
It's going to be a loooong 40 days.