I am not generally a swearing man.
I don’t have a problem with words like “damn” and “hell”, but that is about the limit for me. Even in sports, where you can get thrown out of a game for not cursing, I didn’t swear much (I think I was permanently traumatized by a 10th grade basketball game where I dropped a pass on the sideline and let lose with an obscenity only to look up and see my mom sitting on the first row of the bleachers only a foot or two away).
Working on the house is a different story.
I don’t know what it is about home improvements that makes me absolutely lose it, but nothing else has quite the effect on me. I am not sure it really counts as swearing. Most of the words that come out are made up (“frungadamunga!”) and the ones that I haven’t invented on the spot are strung together so tightly, in such a steady stream, that they become an unintelligible fix-it incantation.
Today I hung some mini-blinds in a bathroom window. The window was just a little too wide for the blinds so I had to fabricate an angle bracket to extend the mounting bracket on the right side (I have learned from Monster Garage, Monster House, and American Chopper that anytime you so much as look at a piece of metal you are “fabricating”).
The process was not a smooth one, but when I was finished it actually looked perfect. As I sat back to admire my handiwork Adrienne said, “You created two things today, that angle bracket and a beautiful tapestry of obscenities.”