Word to Your My Mother

I've never really cursed around my parents. Not that it would be a huge deal. They certainly do their share of swearing (my mom, when driving? namely en español, which is obviously how I learned the language). But even after growing up and moving away—and even though around my friends, I swear quite a bit—I've always seemed to have an automatic filter that turns on when I'm around mom 'n' pop.

And we're certainly not a buttoned-up family. Standard dinner conversations can cover some pretty risqué material. (At a recent dinner, my brother told a story that prompted my mom to inquire, "What does 'bust a nut' mean?" Ah. Classy.) But no swear words from me.

That all changed yesterday. Talking to my mom on a cell phone, I dropped the F-bomb. It was completely on-accident. And followed by several seconds of awkward silence.

Based on reception interference, she may have thought I said "mucked it up", but deep down I know that she now knows the dark secret about her progeny: I'm a bad person.