Where to: Starbucks.
Time: Morning rush hour traffic.
Why: Dropping hubby.
Me: Doing best effort to be calm.
Cab driver: Mindlessly cuts me off.
Me: F**!@#.
Hubby: If you're gonna do it you might as well do it right, baby. You have to put more passion into it! 'F**@#!' Say it from your belly...F**@#! F**@#! F**@#%^ IT, MATE!"
This gets me good because while Jack knows every cuss word in the book, I, on the other hand, am not the cursing type, really. Except of course around the dreaded days of PMS when I can do it in three languages. Simultaneously. And the fact that what I have very recently forbade myself to do I am doing so loudly, and I mean screaming at the top of our lungs LOUD (in the privacy of our car, of course) makes the whole scenario even funnier.
I am pee-in-my-pants laughing at this point while at the back of my mind, my conscience makes a showing and guilt starts to creep around the corners. I decide to stuff it back where it came from.
Sinful. I am. So shoot me.
It was one of those very long mornings.
Looking back, I should have taken that offer for an over-priced cup of Starbucks coffee jelly. It would have made that embarrassing situation at the Megamall Supermarket check-out line a little more bearable.
Me: F**@#!
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