"I never know what's going to come out of my mouth."
One pretty good example of that would be last year when Christine and I were coming from Ash Wednesday mass and she asked me what I planned to give up for Lent. After much discussion I found to my dismay I could not think of any vice I enjoyed enough to suffer if it was omitted from my life.
My wise-beyond-her-years (and catholic school educated) daughter pointed out to me that it didn't HAVE to be a sacrifice, it could be doing something positive, too. I'm not sure why I didn't just keep things simple and go with that, but I am what I am.
After another prolonged silence, she offered, "You could give up cussing."
I looked at her. "Do I cuss a lot?"
Well, as it turns out...in a word, YES. So giving up profanity became my lenten mission. I didn't make it through a single day without a swear word slipping in until the day before Easter. Not much to brag about. Besides, the ultimate point is to make yourself more aware of your faith, isn't it? And I was aware of my faith, of Lent, of my mission, every single day.
What I keep forgetting is that I work with a bunch of foul-mouthed men and I've learned to swear like a sailor for no apparent reason. If Frank Rush is in the room, forget about it. Something is going to slip out. And it does.
What surprises me are the times it happens when I have nobody to blame but myself. I never realized what a potty mouth I'd become. And because my desired change will also be good for the air, I know it's a good choice for mankind in general. I'm probably going to have to stay off South Third street though. Nobody goes the speed limit and the crazies swerve in and out of lanes, which scares the s--- whoops, let's just call it a day and move on, okay?
