I Swear It Helps

My husband gets the magazine Popular Science every month.   When it arrives he usually spends a good part of the rest of the afternoon leaned over the counter in the kitchen, reading it from cover to cover.   Sometimes there are articles he thinks I might like or be interested in.  He’ll tell me about the latest research or discovery or invention while I’m working on something like folding laundry.

Yesterday he came into the bedroom while I was just finishing up folding the last of the kid’s clothes and said, “you might like this” and told me about the “Less-Nobel Nobels.”  For twenty-five years the Less-Nobel Nobels have been a tribute to science’s funniest research.  

He told me in 2010 the Less-Nobel Nobel for Peace was given to the researchers for confirming the widely held belief that swearing relives pain.

I am a consummate swearer, a die-hard user of foul language and generally a big potty mouth.    I swear a lot.  I swear any time I drop something—which I do a lot.    I swear any time I get annoyed at  something—which happens all the time.   And I always swear when I hurt myself.    I am very happy to learn its helping to relieve my pain.   I rather thought it did.

I’ve considered stopping swearing, but honestly, I think it was easier to stop drinking alcohol for what’s almost been a year now than it would be to stop swearing.   That would take commitment and I’m not sure I’m up for the job.

The Big Boy Update:  I was telling my son about his grandparents a while back.   I named them and then told him he was lucky to have four great grandparents.   He said, “you mean five grandparents.”  I asked him who the fifth one was.   He replied, “Uncle Jon.”   Uncle Jon, we love you, man.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Nana is coming to town tomorrow.   She’s been watching our dog, Lucy, and she’s bringing her back home in the morning.   I told my daughter Nana was coming and did she know who she was bringing with her?   My daughter said, “her purse.”