Before I moved to New Jersey (sometime in the year 1993), the worst curse words that I used were rather banal. As a matter of fact, I now hear more and more of these words on network TeeVee, and, to further my point that they really are very bland, not during late night hours. But once I made myself a resident of the Garden State, I somehow thought that a lot of well-chosen expletives would make me fit in.
The only thing they did was make all of my fellow New Jersey-ans wonder what the heck was up with the hayseed Hoosier stumbling her way around Margate, and on more than one occasion, I caught sight of someone in the Park and Shop shaking their head in wonder that I was able to figure out how to get out of bed in the morning.
What can I say? I'm a doofus and always have been.
So when I woke up this morning and realized that The Illness of Epic Proportions had come back, the words that flew out of my mouth in between hacking up a lung or two were NOT ready for prime time. As of yesterday it has officially been one month since I have fallen ill, and I'm not exactly what you'd call handling it with dignity and grace. I'm miserable and headed back to the big girl sleigh bed with a cuddly puppy and a bar of soap for my potty mouth.
Don't cry for me, Argentina. This too shall pass. In the meantime, talk amongst yourselves.