I like to think of myself as a pirate. I like to think that I too could pillage my way through the isles of the Caribbean. I like to think that I can handle both a sabre and a small flintlock, I did grow up in the sticks so I have some experience with fire arms. I like to think if I needed to I could bare having my leg amputated with no more anesthetic than a bottle of whiskey and a musket ball to bite down on. Most importantly, I know I'd look good in a puffy shirt and an eye patch (which means I think I could also be a soap star but that's another post entirely).
Now the one thing that I do have going for me is a proclivity toward rather colourful verbosity. Indeed the standard interlocutor might be deceived into assuming that I spent time in a French jail. Why a French and not a Turkish jail you ask? Well it's because I learned to "city-drive", not in the mean streets of New York; my New York mean streets were typically not paved and often booby-trapped with cows. Instead I learned in the very narrow and very crazy streets of France. As a result of dodging maniacs speeding through the Arc de Triomphe, for road rage my cursing reflects the anger of a man who uses cologne as deodorant.
Wife has fought a noble, and one could argue feeble, battle against this propensity. For the most her oft used statement of "they can't hear you" has tended to dull my anger and coarser habits while driving. However sometimes things slip out over which I have little control. I submit to you three scenarios and ask for your opinion on them.
1. Doing dishes you randomly grab a can that is in the sink to be rinsed off for recycling, because you love the earth of course. In so doing you give yourself a nice deep cut that is the flesh wound equivalent of the Grand Canyon. While you're too manly to go for stitches, are you justified in the loud profanity that you're sure your dead grandmother heard in the next county over?
2. During a nice leisurely walk on a Sunday afternoon you stop to help a motorist push start their car. As they speed away you step on a rusty nail the size of the Eiffel Tower which easily passes through the sole of your flip flop and firmly embeds itself into the bridge of your foot. Can you explain away to your wife that you didn't say what she thinks you said?
3. You're in church and one of the teenage boys who's trying to impress the girls by pretending to dunk, runs by and pulls your arm out of its socket. Does your "Son of a ...." in front of 20 youth and the bishop mean you're doomed to hellfire and brimstone?
I guess the moral of the story is that since I already swear like a pirate I might as well get the eye patch.
I've even got the sneer down.
Okay that's a totally old photo but it worked with my overall narrative. Thanks for bearing with me and now I go to bed.
And here's another relatively obscure video for your perusal: