Cursing at the hairdresser’s

I cursed at the hair dresser’s today. Not the kind of curse that happens when your hair gets cut and you scream WTF!!, no not that kind of curse. But the type of curse we “lazies” have appropriated for an adjective. I was telling him that I was in the midst of cleaning out my closet, when he called. (uhmm, I forgot I had an appointment to get my hair trimmed before the two weddings this weekend..but I digress). Anyone who knows me knows I have a “f*cking amount” of clothes. It’s obscene how many clothes I own. I have to pare the piles back, because quite frankly, where will I be wearing all of these??? So, that is what I was telling him when the “F” word slipped. Or maybe it didn’t slip. But I knew as soon as I comfortably used the word in the context of how many clothes I own, I had offended the two other women in the shop, who, while reading their magazines under their tin foil manes would be listening in. Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I can let the word fly, but that I am always offended on how many times we as a society use the word in our daily conversation. I mean, are we the Soprano’s or what? Then I let it slip. I realize that it has infused itself into our mainstream conversation so much so that I think it has lost it’s strength. But I know the word still has enough sting to where people will be offended. I looked at the two women whom I felt I might have offended. They were my age, but didn’t look like me. (well from my perspective anyway, to them I probably didn’t look like them either, and certainly didn’t speak like they did). They looked, as far as I can tell from under the hairdryer, and under their big plastic “wraps”, like perfectly nice women, most probably career women with families. Maybe that’s the key. I have no kids so I can use language differently. I can dress differently, and I can see everything differently, through the lens of just me, a woman with a whole sh*tload of clothes.

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