Sh#t Happens

Since my fascination with the word "Sh#t" in first grade I have always tried to keep a clean mouth. I have taught myself to yell, "Dang it," and "Son of a B" when I'm mad. I say things like, "How the heck are you?" and "That guy sure is an A-Hole." However, there are times my makeshift swear words just don't cut it. For example, I woke up at 4:20 in the morning (which I sort of still consider Monday since the sun is not even close to being up), rode my bike in the dark to work, stood on my feet for 9 and a half hours, got called "Love" three times by three separate men (who didn't even leave a tip), rode my bike home, convinced myself to wash my car, drove in traffic for 30 minutes to reach the Costco 2 miles down the road from the car wash and when I pulled into a coveted empty spot I realized I had left my wallet at the house. To ensure I didn't lose my wallet somewhere between the house and the car wash I called Mr. Hick (name has been slightly altered to protect the privacy of my husband) and asked him if my wallet was in the apartment. When he said, "Yep, wallet. Check." I screamed, "Shiittttt." (Sorry no censorship this time.) Come on, let's be honest, a "Freak!" Or "Gosh, Dang it" just wasn't going to cut it. So what's the point of this story? Well, 1. I'm exhausted and for some reason this experience struck me as funny. 2. I think I was on to something in first grade. I loved the word "sh@t" before, and I still do.