Bad influence

I am what some people might call a crude girl. Not the crudest, by far, but I do have a habit of saying what I feel, without regard for sensibilities, whenever I so desire.

Of course, these doesn't mean that I cannot control my crudeness under certain situations that demand a certain grace and decorum. But here is the thing - I was raised by parents who didn't see gender as a discriminating force or recognize censorship of any type and I had two older brothers who let me listen to their George Carlin and Cheech and Chong albums. So I was free to be whatever I could be, and this, my friends, is where things went horribly wrong.

When I was in 6th grade (hmm, 11 years old?) my mother, after giving the book a careful reading herself, let me read Forever by Judy Blume. I, of course, had to take it to school and share it with my friends at lunch. Well, the book was taken away from me, to be given back at the end of the school day. My teacher, who was sweet and apologetic about the incident, handed back the book as I was walking outside to the line of cars waiting to pick students up. At this moment, I decided to rail on her about the evils of censorship, and preceded to belt out a cloud of obscenities that is probably still lying in the air over Brunson Elementary School. Parents, students, even the principal - looked at me in shock and horror, as the words kept flowing out. I was unable to be stopped, nor did anyone try. I was, after all, one of the star students, the top of my class, obedient, kind, and quiet. Where, oh where, did this come from?

Of course, what they should have been thinking is WHAT had pushed me into such an incendiary tirade. Taking the book away from me had been a betrayal - and while I understand fully why they did it now, and why I shouldn't have taken the book to school in the first place, at that time I was a child who had had very little suppressed or taken away from me. It was my very first experience with the idea of censorship, and it makes me just as mad now as it did then.

As I grew older, and ever a student of popular culture, more and more crude language entered my day to day vocabulary. My father, perhaps, found it a bit amusing, my mother was not so thrilled. While she never went so far as to say I couldn't talk like that, she stressed that it wasn't ladylike or appropriate. By the time I hit my 20's fuck was a staple in about every other sentence. I even ventured to use twat and cunt occasionally, and by the time I was in my 30's, my affectionate name for people was bitch.

It isn't just the cursing. Oh no. I can make some of the crudest comments ever to come out of a female's mouth. I'm not exactly proud of the ability of being crude, but I am proud of the fact that I don't feel the need to censor myself, and that I acquired the ability to not feel the need to be so crude in certain situations. In other words, I can behave like a perfect grownup, without even giving my crude side a second thought. However, when I am alone with my husband, or with friends, noone ever knows what things might emerge from my mouth.

My husband was raised in a nice family. Well educated, upper class, but with a great sense of humor. Still, he had never been exposed to my type of crudeness before. Aside from a few Greek curses now and then, he was pretty tame. However, after 3 years of living with me, you'd be surprised the mouth this man has on him now. He says thing I think he never would have dreamed of saying. All because of me. I have turned my well educated, upright, classy husband into a crude American. Sometimes I feel ashamed of what I have done, and sometimes I feel proud. But mostly I am just glad he can appreciate me for who I am, without judging me, and see the humor in all of it.

As long as his mother never finds out, we're golden.