My Potty Mouth (The Early Years)

Word of The Day Challenge: Schmutzwortsuche

Dear Santa

( I wrote  in 1969 when I was 8 years old )

Please give me a dictionary, a big heavy dictionary with lots of words in it.

Thank You.

Anita Marie

 

” You don’t believe in Santa ” my Mom said.

” Sometimes I do. Most of the time. You know. When it’s important. ”

I handed my letter to my Mom.

” You can look at it. ” I offered graciously.

She read it and then she looked at me like she wanted to say something.

” Why ” was all she said.

” Because I want to know what words mean.”

And then my brother who was always around nipping at my heels said- because he was of course my Mom’s favorite and his sole purpose in life when he was 8 until about 45 years later was to snitch to our Mom about every rotten thing I did or was about to do or wanted to do.

He was like that angel that sits on your shoulder- only he didn’t sit on my shoulder. He flew all over the place and told anyone with ears what I was doing wrong and why I should be stopped.

” She wants to find more bad words to say to me and if she can’t find them she’s going to hit me with the book. That’s why she wants it to be so big. She wants it to be the biggest book ever so it will hurt. She said so Mom.”

My Mom held my letter out to me. ” Write another one.”

” How’s about I don’t? ”

My Mom nodded. ” Fine. Don’t.”

I didn’t get a dictionary that year. My Mom got me a Barbie Doll.

I hated Barbie Dolls. I only liked stuffed animals. Preferably  ones with metal rods in their backs that held their heads up. If you were to say, use one to smack your pesty brother with- that baby would hurt.

Bad words escaped me then, but even though I was deprived of an educational tool ( looking at YOU Santa  )I have mastered quite a few of them without the help of a dictionary.

Take THAT Mom ho-ho- HA!

amm

Lorna Doone Wasn’t A Cookie

Fandango’s Dog Days of August #3: Monday

Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Pexels.com

I don’t hate Mondays

or Tuesdays

or Wednesdays

I don’t even hate Sundays- the way I used to because they were so BORING when I was a kid.

When I was a kid there were no malls, no cable tv , no internet and the only bright spot on Sundays where going to my Dad’s parent’s house for dinner.

Which in itself was pretty boring until on of the adults got bored so they started to tell stories about whatever tickled their fancy and that was influenced by how much they had been drinking because

we were ALL bored on Sundays.

I remember my Grandmother told this story about a relative of ours who was name- Lorna Doone Godfrey and she was getting to the part about how Lorna passed away my Aunt piped up, ” She ran through the streets yelling, ” I’m a cookie I’m a cookie? “

For the first time EVER I actually saw my family struck speechless and then get on someone for popping out a smart aleck line because that was the point to some of these conversations.

I didn’t see what everyone was so upset. I loved Lorna Doone cookies. When I said as much I was invited to leave the table until I could behave.

It was a weird moment and it stuck with me for years.

It wasn’t until I traced my family tree over the winter that I learned that Lorna and three of her children died in a house fire. Her oldest was away to college any my Great Uncle was away on business so they were spared.

At the time the cookie story made the rounds, they had been dead for maybe 20 years so it wasn’t ancient history- but I do wonder what made my Aunt toss that line in.

Was she drunk? Did she not like her cousins and Aunt? Or was it just to good of a line let go of?

I guess I’ll never know. Most of the adults at the table that day have passed on and my Mom spent all of her time at these dinners ignoring all of us so when she says, ” I don’t know what you’re talking about ” its true.

Like I said, I don’t hate Mondays because sometimes I hate Sundays even more but like them or hate them something interesting can happen so why write them off?

I mean, on that Sunday I learned that Lorna Doone Was Not A Cookie.

Good to know.