$*%#!

I don’t normally swear…much. I like words, but the real kind, the SAT kind. And I like to put them together and move them around and make them do tricks.

I’m sure I used a few swear words when I was younger and they were particularly illicit, back in elementary school when I first learned that “stupid” is not in fact the “s” word. But the forbidden quality faded, and thus the appeal wore off (Curse words are much like Boone’s Farm in that regard – although I didn’t discover Boone’s Farm in elementary.).  

These days, I don’t swear a lot, especially not in front of my kids. I’m trying, if mostly failing, to set a good example and promote positivity. So I do my best to avoid angry outbursts, and if I do go there, I’m more apt to say things like “gosh darnit!” and “fudge nuggets!” I know.  I’m ridiculous. 

Lately, though.  Well, lately I’ve been feeling very swear-y.  It seems these days that sometimes a well-placed f**k is the only appropriate word. 

Does your daughter/husband/other-person-over-which-you-will-stay-up-nights-worrying have covid?  F**k.

Are you a parent whose school district went virtual or a teacher trying to educate those little darlings through a computer screen? Again??  F**k.

Your kids are close contacts so they can’t go to tryouts/the big game/their little lives generally? F**kity f**k f**ky f**k . 

Just f**k covid.  

Good news, especially for those of you in places with lower covid numbers and less disrupted lives: Swearing doesn’t just work for covid or other big calamities. It’s multipurpose. It works for any misfortune you might face, even the minor ones. 

Run out of Ted Lasso episodes to watch? Or just run out of brownies? Or clean socks? Or patience? Can’t find a paper bag to cover your son’s textbook, because apparently grocery sacks are being hoarded instead of toilet paper now?  Stub your big toe? F**k it all. 

F**k can express disappointment, angst, anger, regret, commiseration.  Basically anything you might be experiencing in 2021. I’m telling you, the word is magic. Try it. It has healing properties, I promise. It’s freeing and calming, and it adds humor and levity to most situations. 

I discovered this phenomenon purely by accident (i.e., a curse thrown out in frustration over some combination of the above-mentioned annoyances – I believe it was stubbing my toe while simultaneously looking for a paper bag and trying to schedule a covid test), and I thought it was strange, but it turns out it’s true. As most strange things are. 

The doctors (at least the foul-mouthed ones) explain that swearing can activate pain relief, provide a sense of control, help to make light of a situation or gain perspective, and even increase circulation and endorphins. 

Huh. Who knew? 

I guess this only applies if you aren’t already a serial swearer.  You know who you are. For those folks, the benefits of cursing are lessened. They’ve built up their swearing “tolerance” such that they are immune to the accompanying buzz. 

For the rest of us, let’s give it a go.  It won’t change the length of your quarantine or please your mother, but it might lighten your mood.  And it will definitely make your stubbed toe feel better.