I seldom swear. I used to. A lot. Then I started to feel kind of dirty whenever obscenities would come out of my mouth, so I stopped. Maybe that was God’s way of saying to me, “Can’t you find a better word?” Or maybe I’m just getting older. I don’t know…
Anyway, this weekend, standing in the middle of McDonald’s (thankfully, with no children in earshot), I leaned in very close to Saul, grabbed his shirt, looked him the eyes and whispered, “HOLY F#CK! THEY ARE GOING TO CUT OFF MY BREAST!” And then I made a whimpering noise.
I don’t even know where it came from. It’s like every bit of doubt and worry I had been stamping down came rushing to the surface and exploding out of my mouth.
Since there really are no words for that sort of situation, Saul just wrapped his arms around me tightly and we made a special loving moment out of it– right there in the middle of the Nelsonville McDonald’s. Da da dot da dah, I’m lovin’ it.
