Illustration by Drew Shannon
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My New Year’s resolution was to stop using my favourite word – the F-bomb. Just so you know, the resolution was a suggestion from a loved one.
At first, I balked at the idea because, darn it, it’s my favourite word. But then, I do like a challenge. And really, how hard could it be? It’s not like I’m a potty mouth and drop it into sentences inappropriately. I only use it when the situation warrants special effects or to get my point across. Although … there have been occasions when I’ve been told in private (by loved ones) to read the room before uttering said word in a conversation.
When I told people what my resolution was, the first response I got was: you’ll never do it, Gramma. What kind of support is that? That night I fell asleep with visions of soap bars hovering over me.
Ground rules were established. I could not say the word, but it was agreed I could use versions of it in writing and texting. Hello, texting, my new best friend.
Our crossing guard turns a cold intersection into a place of warm connection
Jan. 1 did not go well and I must admit, I was embarrassed how easily the word slipped out of my mouth. Maybe I am a potty mouth.
Jan. 3 found me texting more than talking. I know, it’s hard to believe.
On Jan. 5, a swear jar appeared on the kitchen table. What? No way. I don’t need that.
My husband said, “Twenty dollars for each F-bomb.”
“What? That’s outrageous.”
“It is what it is.” He grinned, winked and pointed at the jar.
No way. I can stop. Just watch me.
That night there was $60 in the jar. A family member mentioned we’ll be able to go on holiday in a couple weeks. Oh, ye of little faith!
On Jan. 9, no more funds were added to the jar. Look at me, I’m rocking it! I will mention that I stopped using versions of my favourite word in texts. Seeing it in writing was too tempting. What if my mouth carried on where my fingers left off?
I rode the wave until Jan. 14 when I slammed my funny bone on a sharp corner. The word flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. Honest. I didn’t stand a chance. Even though its use was totally warranted and I apologized profusely, waving my injured elbow in the air, a finger pointed at the swear jar. Who the heck named it a funny bone and why? It’s not even a bone. I didn’t have any cash, and the jar didn’t accept debit or credit, so I slipped in an IOU and made a mental note to go to the bank the next day.
After a road trip on the Dempster Highway, I’m ready for more adventures in my 60s
In order to recover my dignity, I coerced my teeth into supporting me. Game changer. Nothing like a good chomp on the tongue to make me rethink word choices. Teamwork. I’ve got this!
Jan. 19: I lost our evening Scrabble game (which isn’t uncommon) but for some reason it ticked me off and the word blurted out before my teeth could engage. My husband eyed the swear jar. After I added my donation, I told him, “It costs way more than what’s in that jar to go on holidays.” He just smiled.
Research suggests it takes an average of 66 days, and as long as 254, to form new habits (such as, er, not swearing). Those are daunting numbers. Quite possibly, I’m doomed.
Jan. 24: I was in a rush and got angry at the dishwasher because it wouldn’t let me choose the right cycle. I pushed enough buttons to get an error message. I never knew it gave error messages. I swore at the machine. Over a message on an appliance. I’m hopeless.
Jan. 31: $180 in the swear jar and one IOU. I guess I had a few more slip-ups than I remembered. FYI – no big holiday plans yet but the year is young.
Fear not. I’m determined to ride this out until I break the habit. The next time we meet, I hope the soap ring around my lips has disappeared.
What resolution did you make? How’s it going? According to research, only 9 per cent of people keep them. Wow, now that’s a daunting number.
Barbara Wackerle Baker lives in Calgary.