Mais non, je ne pas cuss all that much in writing. In speaking–that’s another thing. My roommate in college did not approve of my cussing though it was tame, very tame. I truly learned to cuss when I taught at a Catholic boys school right out of college. And no, cursing is not the right word. Too prim. Anyway, nothing like being one of the few females who wasn’t a nun in a school of hundreds of males to turn one into an expert on Anglo-Saxon phrases. I believe I kept my cool around the boys, but nowhere else. The administrators were every bit as annoying. Of course I cleaned up my coarseness once I had children and haven’t really gone back to serious cussing since. I certainly don’t like hearing blue streaks come out of people’s mouths when I’m in public. The other day as I was leading a tour on Brown’s Island and in no one’s way whatsoever, some runner ran close to our group and let rip with “motherfucking something” seemingly directed at us. It wasn’t even Mothers’ Day. Not nice. But every once in a while, those sorts of words are just the right thing and make me laugh out loud–always a good thing for words to do.