OPINION: Swearing is not very ladylike so I have decided I'm not going to do it any more, writes Alana Dixon in Uptown Girl.
I never used to swear – at home growing up we were given a stern talking to if we said "f-a-r-t" and "b-u-m", and I recall at least one occasion where I was sent to my room after I rolled my eyes and said "oh my God' (can you tell I watched Clueless a lot?) – so I'm not quite sure what has happened to me.
I think I'm going to go with blaming it on: a) my uncouth whiskey-swilling, fedora-wearing, chain-smoking, notepad-toting reporter colleagues or b) my red hair or c) the Bluffie.
(Before anyone starts jumping up and down – I kid, I kid. Cool your jets.)
Anyway, whatever made me start this dreadful cussing is a waste of the valuable life-lessons instilled in me by the Olsen twins and is also potentially quite embarrassing if my neighbours happen to overhear me – and my string of expletives – at the moment I realise my car heater has done nothing to defrost the windows when I am running late to work.
This decision to refrain from the four-letter words has actually allowed me to unleash my creativity in terms of finding suitable descriptions for things, whether they are things that annoy me, things I am scared of, or things I need to punctuate verbally when people don't understand what my exclamation face looks like.
There are only so many words you can add "hizzy" to the end of, a la Snoop Dogg.
One of my favourites for a while there was using "holy Moses' but that particular gem is starting to wear a little thin, so I started wracking my brain to find inventive ways to express my shock, displeasure, and/or happiness.
And so I have come up with a strategy: Watch Anchorman. On repeat.
And learn from the master, the man, the legend himself. Ron Burgandy.
This movie went down in the history books when I was at high school, but I haven't sat and pondered its brilliance in quite some time. It's been nice to sit and embrace the warm fuzzy glow of its genius once more.
So far, "great Odin's raven" and using the line "[such and such] is from the toilet store" have come in handy.
After all, there's a lot to learn from a man whose apartment smells of rich mahogany.
So far, so good. Until...
Maybe I should have waited to make this promise until after the winter, when these frosts are long gone. Mother of pearl, this no swearing thing is hard.
PS: Dorothy Mantooth is a SAINT!
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