I learned six things from my two weeks of attempted non-swearing. #1. Self-control is not my strong point. #2. I swear quite a bit. Not horribly, just conversationally. A damn here, a hell there, with sh*t as my go-to word. When I’m sewing, driving, or discovering my dog pooping on my carpet, I use the f-bomb. (Sister Janet, if you’re reading this — I’m sorry I’ve failed you.)…
In a moment of love and serious overconfidence, I offered to make curtains for my friend, Kimberly. I measured one of what looked like three identical windows in her breakfast nook, only to discover that the impostor middle window was five inches longer than the other two. So entered the first string of expletives. Then, in a misguided second moment of love and overconfidence, I offered to fix…