It’s tiiiiiIME!  It’s that time of year again to make your Lenten Promise. 

My Lenten Promise – to stop swearing – lasted for a grand total of 17 minutes this morning.

There was a spider in the kitchen sink.  %^&*ing spider!  Just waiting…waiting…WAITING to ruin my Lenten Promise.  Also?  The kitchen sink is ruined for me now too.  I can’t go near it or touch anything in it.  Because I just KNOW, despite the waterboarding and garbage disposal treatment I subjected the silver-dollar sized spider to this morning, it’s waiting on the underside of that black rubbery sink hole protector.  Waiting…waiting…WAITING!  To once again ruin my Lenten Promise.  #^*%ing spider!  #$%^&*^#ING SPIDER!!

To put my Lenten Promise in context, it’s important to mention that I think fish wives have been unfairly maligned through the ages.  These original working mothers were STRESSED!  They had to sell those BLEEPing fish without benefit of daycare!  You kids CUT IT OUT!  I’M TRYING TO SELL THE BLEEPING FISH!!

So cut ‘em some slack already.  I have.  In fact, I’ve made it my own personal mission to retroactively provide equality and justice for them – by swearing like a sailor.  (Now the SAILORS?  The sailors deserve THEIR reputation.  So screw ’em!  And I recognize, as an explanation, the fish-wife theory is lacking a bit.  Just go with it.  Otherwise, screw you too!)

But periodically (ooooh…say….every Lent or so), it occurs to me that I HAVE to clean up my mouth.  I mean, what example am I setting for my children?!  I don’t remember my OWN mother swearing. 

Much. 

(Hi Mom!  Scared yet?  But at least I’m not telling anyone about that thing, right?  That thing from Tuesday you asked me not to tell anyone about.  So that’s good.) 

Mostly, my mother would vent her anger by doing a Bruce-Banner-turning-into-the-Hulk sort of escalating growl.  gggggggggggGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!  [oftentimes accompanied with clenched fists, raised about ear-level, shaking like a weightlifter who can’t…quite…get the bar over his head]  And in moments of extreme angst, she would tack on a “SHUZBUT!” at the end.  Remember “Shuzbut” from Mork from Ork?  Yeah, that “Shuzbut.”  Embarrassing.

And one time, she even called my brother a “hassle.”  He thought she called him an a$$hole.  WE thought she called him an a$$hole.  If it were up to ME, I woulda called him an a$$hole.  But we’ve been over that already.  I’m cleaning up my act.  And my mouth.  Starting now.  Spiders be damned!! 

Ok…NOW!