Straight from the sailor's mouth

No matter how old you are, it will always bother your mom if you use bad words.

This morning while having a lovely phone conversation with Mama Wanderlust, I was being repeatedly dive-bombed for no reason whatsoever by a rather rude fly that had wandered into the house like he owned the place. While in the midst of discussing plants and my knack for murdering them, I suddenly can't take the assault from Beelzebub the fly anymore, and I shriek, "THIS FUCKING FLY IS DRIVING ME CRAZY!"

Dead silence on the other end of the phone.

I laugh awkwardly and apologize, and am reminded of the time when I was about seven and informed Mark rather loudly that he was a "bastard", with Mom standing right there. The two of them gave me matching looks of surprise, and Mom said, "What did you say?" I wasn't exactly sure at the time just what that word meant or where I'd heard it, other than it wasn't unlike something one would gather from the stream of pseudo-obscenities spewed by Yosemite Sam. The mortification I felt when I realized that this seemingly innocuous word was an actual curse word - not of the fake, cartoon variety - was enough to make me feel like a terrific shame of a daughter. Now, twenty-plus years older and very well-versed in the use of expletives, I kind of feel that way all over again.

There's a moment of awkwardness on the phone as Mom recovers from the searing f-bomb that has assailed her poor, unexpecting ear, and I make a pitiful attempt to return to talk of plants, but it's too late - the damage has been done. I have shamed my mother yet again.

Hours later, the fucking fly is still hanging about the house - I think he's fixing himself a cup of coffee right now.