Hull

Cussing was only habitual for this individual for about a year – something about adolescence and limits. As soon as a curvy girl in a red dress told me she found it disturbing and low, I discontinued. It was hard enough getting girls to notice at all, without such additional impediments. This cessation of lewd crude lingo occurred about the same time I started brushing my teeth more regularly, I imagine. It gives double meaning to ‘slip of the tongue’. Fortunately, the habit wasn’t firmly engrained. I was able to relinquish, lessen the frequency – unlike some of my old friends, who continue with colourful verbiage to this day, unaware of company, situation, or ridiculous redundancy of the said vocabulary. They could make a rapper blush.
Then teacher-hood, that opportunity to subvert young and occasionally subvertable minds, came along, quite unexpectedly, as it were. That meant cold, complete and absolute withdrawal, although like most other educators, there were occasional slips. “Mr. M. swore!” followed by gasps or guffaws. A few incredibly gifted colleagues could turn it on and off like electricity. Going for lunch with these masculine staff would induce a steady stream of colourful blue, right up until they stepped out of the car back within earshot of students.
I am not lonely in this game of self-control, the restraint of not returning to a once addicted potty mouth. This discipline is engaged in by many adults, those that had any exciting adolescence at all, or had ears. There are sites like churches and symphony concert halls, and castes like the aforementioned teachers, preachers, and newscasters on air where it is FORBIDDEN.
Even there, and in the group consciousness, former profanity has slowly but surely crept in like a cancer – stealthily. Gone are the days when there were 20 or more words including ones like ‘damn’ or ‘shut up’. Fortunately, I have a hull of a strategy for not regressing to those clumsy vulgar immature witless uncreative days. T’is called replace.