Ever since my niece and nephew were born, my sister and brother-in-law have had a House Rule in place about using “spicy” language around their young and impressionable ears. My brother-in-law had a coin bank, and whenever someone would light a sh-parkler or drop an f-bomb, the offending party would have to cough up one dollar to the kitty per offense.
My niece and nephew are now teenagers. This past weekend, I was having a short face-to-face conference on my iPad with my sister using Facetime. She had just complimented me on how nice my hair was looking while my niece made funny faces next to her.
Without even thinking, I said, “Really? I think it looks like shiznit.” Except I didn’t say “shiznit.” I said the Other Word. The Bad Word. I immediately clamped my hand over my mouth, but it was too late. My niece rolled her eyes.
“Nice going, Suzanna,” my sister chastised.
“Wow, Suzanna,” my niece added, a grin of delight on her face.
“One dollar,” added my sister. “Pay up!”
“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll send you a dollar.”
As Harry Potter says in Harry Potter And the Prisoner of Azkaban, “I don’t go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me.”
Word, Harry. Word.