“Rosie, You B*tch!”

How did you learn curse words? I happened to be fortunate enough to ride the “bad kid” bus in elementary school before the politically correct redistricting occurred. My sister and I learned a lot of street smarts and a motley array of profanity during our rides on Bus 61 Orange. (We were quite a sight in our smocked dresses and braided Princess Leia hair loops amist the mini wannabe gangstas.)

Thanks to modern technology, in the form of live streaming video cameras, such education does not occurr on my kids’ bus. They learn salty language from a different source….other Mommy Blogs. But first, as always, the backstory is due.

During the 7.5 year time span since I first gave birth, we’ve miraculously managed to avoid passing expletives onto our offspring.  This is truly astonishing if you know me, my husband or my Dad.  Out of the earshot of children (most of the time) we relish in the sport of the curse.  The only word the boys have picked up is “dammit”or, according to The Middle, “jammit”.  Despite the fact that they are public school riff-raff, they still have only heard that one bad word (let the record reflect from aforementioned maternal Grandfather), until today.

It all happened innocently enough.  The Nosy Meap still rocks a 3 hour nap every afternoon, which is a blessing and a curse.  As a collective family- at least the 3 children and I- we have a perpetual type of self diagnosed and  untreatable ADD….or they are under 8 years old and I still think that way.  We need an escape destination, like the park, pool….or Petsmart! (Guaranteed 45 minutes of entertainment- whether it be with the animals or the employees.)  During the school year this is not a problem because The Oldest is in school all day, leaving The Middle and I the freedom to hunt worms or watch Titanaboa movies while eating gluten free natural Chee-tos. However, it is a big problem in the summer when I am trapped in the house with napping toddler and 2 boys who 96% of the time can’t find a game/toy/activity to do together. Our afternoons usually escalate into a reinactment of the French-Indian wars.

So, I made a phone call to my potty mouth Dad to take The Middle fishing for the afternoon, allowing me some 1:1 with The Oldest, who often complains how I love and care for his siblings much more. Right.

I managed to scrounge a Tim the Tool Man Clock Kit circa 1991 from the toy closet, and as “we” were painting, I did the unthinkable and destroyed the sanctity of our alone time. I jumped onto my laptop.  He was deep into his color patterns, so I thought I’d multitask.  I perused my emails, and clicked on one My Husband sent. Often, he will send me links to articles he finds of interest. As if I am sitting on the back patio sipping my 1/2 pumps Pumpkin Spice latte all afternoon enjoying some light reading. Right again. Usually they are from super famous Mommy Blogs raking in the cash and scoring book deals.  I am not sure if he does this for the following reasons: 1.  He just thinks the story is good and wants me to read it,  2. He’s hinting that if I just focus for 5 minutes, I might too be able to be a super famous Mommy Blogger and he could retire (he IS much, much older than The Hyphenista after all).

Regardless, I was intently reading http://www.rantsfrommommyland.com and didn’t realize The Oldest snuck up behind me until he read outloud,and loudly “That’s Queen B*tch to You”.
And instead of using this as a parenting teaching moment and calmly explaining what an innapropriate word that it, my eyes bulged out of my head and I screamed, “DON’T EVER SAY THAT WORD AGAIN!  IT’S WORSE THAN DAMMIT!!! YOU WILL GO TO THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE!!!!” (Don’t you wish I was your Mom? Think of how fun my drama is.)  My sweet Oldest then asked what it meant.

I reverted back to biology. Explained that this term is for a female dog, specifically a Mother dog. I also explained that people have corrupted and co-opted this word to be mean to others – that it is something said in regard to women that is just not very nice. He caught none of the second part of the explanation, but rather simply looked over at our obese female Chihuahua Rosalita and exclaimed: “ROSIE, YOU’RE A BITCH!”

The good news? I now have a new phrase when calling the dogs in from their morning trip outside….neighbors beware!

2 thoughts on ““Rosie, You B*tch!”

  1. Jill B says:

    61 Orange rocked! Fond memories of language acquired on that ride. I’ll never forget the innocent naive shock waves that rippled through my 5th grade body when one of those said gangsters mooned me when we went under the covered bridge. Wasn’t our bus driver named Eggy?? Hope Rosie and your neighbors survive this phase 🙂

    • ginacolley says:

      Sounds like 61 Orange deserves it’s own post…yes, Eggy the 6’4″ former Army Sargeant was the Bus Driver. I am fairly certain the mooning occurred when we were younger, during the Mrs. George years of 2nd grade, right?

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