This one’s for all the women out there who like to drop the F-bomb every so often – and for the men who appreciate them!
I was a young woman during the sexual revolution. Then, as now, some guy would come along and find it necessary to tell me how I should be, what I should do and what is or is not good for me. I don’t take kindly to that sort of thing. I will admit that I don’t get as much now as I did back then. I think the fact of my age alone is a deterrent. It has an intimidating effect. I like that. It’s one of the benefits of trading in my youth for wrinkles and a flabby butt. (Although truth be told, I really do miss that smooth skin and youthful butt.)
There isn’t a woman on earth who doesn’t have a story of how a man tried to put her in her place. I’ve got plenty. This is one of my favorites.
I was in my twenties and divorced. My mother used to call it being footloose and fancy-free.
On one of my footloose and fancy-free evenings (my mother was babysitting my daughter), I had a guy over to my place for the evening. We were sitting in the living room, talking and laughing, having some food and wine and generally having fun. Anyone who knows me is aware of the fact that I have a lot to say and the stories I tell are usually peppered with some salty language. Back then, as now, one of my favorites words was f*ck.
I was sitting there, half in the bag from the cheap wine we were drinking, recounting some story or other when he interrupted me. He said, “You know, you are such a beautiful girl and you’re really smart, but…” (There’s always a but, isn’t there?) “… you really shouldn’t use the word f*ck. It’s very unbecoming and not feminine.”
Hmmm. I was a bit taken aback. I mean, we were sitting in MY living room, eating MY food and drinking MY wine. Kind of pissed me off, you know?
All that wine made me have to pee, so I excused myself and made my way to the bathroom. On the way, his words echoed in my mind. I decided not to make an issue of it. We were pretty loaded on the wine and I figured that by the time I got back to the living room, he would have forgotten all about his criticism of me and we could go on with our evening.
No such luck.
As it turned out, by the time I got back, I had forgotten the remark he made. I sat down and launched into another conversational gambit when, once again, he interrupted me and admonished me about peppering my speech with the F bomb. I quietly digested his remark. Then I got up, took his hand and led him to the door. Turning to him, I said, “I like saying f*ck. If you don’t f*cking like it, then you can get the f*ck out!”
Such a look on his face! But he left and we never saw each other again. No big f*cking loss! It was immensely empowering!