Potty Mouth


Denise made a grand entrance into the room. She flittered daintily over to the sofa where I was sitting and threw her body on the opposite end with a flourish. She was quite graceful, considering that she was quite heavy set. I half expected her to place the back of her hand on her forehead and look up to the sky like a damsel in distress in old black and white movies.

“What happened?” I turned to face her and grabbed my drink. It was going to be awhile.

Denise sighed, a deep, exaggerated one. If she wasn’t a woman, I’d suspect she was a drag queen.

“Well, sweetie, it all started this morning. I was in a rush because my fucking alarm didn’t go off and then I realized that I was so shit faced last night that I forgot to set it. So I’m rushing around the fucking house, rollers in my hair, running out with the bathrobe, throwing food at the dog, all that bullshit.” She paused for dramatic effect.

I am keenly aware that she never wears rollers in her hair, nor a bathrobe and she most definitely does not have a dog,  but I understand these are embellishments necessary to her story. She continues.

“I rush into the car and the goddamn thing doesn’t want to start. So I sit there, turning the key, yelling at the fucking bitch of a cunt car I have when it finally starts.” She pauses and places her hand on my knee like she’s about to tell me something really important. “Now, you know how my boss has been a fuck face asshole lately and has been giving me shit about being late. So it was abso-fucking-lutely imperative that I be on time because I don’t want to get fired.”

She took her hand off my knee and started talking with her hands. “So, I haul ass out of my driveway and am speeding like a whore out of hell down the main road when I see the lights in my rearview mirror.” Another dramatic pause. Her eyes are wild with anticipation. I manage an “Oh, no.” Then she continues. “Holy fuck, motherfucker! It’s a cop!” Her hands are all over the place. I am reminded of the time I went to a Baptist church and they had a revival.

“Fucking shit! I can’t afford another goddamn ticket! But I think to myself that maybe he’ll let me off with a warning. You know, flirt, wink, show a little cleavage. Some shoulder action. I even tried flipping my fucking hair!” She gives me a live demonstration of all of those tactics. It is quite entertaining.

“But the fucker doesn’t budge. He even rolled his eyes at me!” She looks indignant, her mouth open with a shocked look in her eyes. It stays quiet for half a minute, then I realize she is waiting for me to respond. “Oh, no, what a jerk!” This satisfies her.

“Exactly. The son of a bitch was so rude that I almost wanted to tell him what I was really thinking. Do you want to hear it?” She is so excited now. I can’t not hear it, even if I said no. “Okay,” I reluctantly complied.

“I would have said, ‘You motherfucking son of a bitch cunt sucker! How dare you treat me with such disrespect, goddamn asshole! Just because you are a spineless twat of a pig doesn’t mean you get to take that fucking shit out on me! Fuck your life, you fucking shit face ass wipe!'” She finished it with a satisfied look and a finger in the air. She had the neck movements and everything going on as she said it.

“Wow, that’s…a mouthful.” I said, not sure what else to say.

Suddenly she looked concerned, like she just had an alarming epiphany. She looked me straight in the eye and grabbed my hands. “Oh, sweetie, I am so sorry! I am so vulgar, I know! You should never have to hear that kind of language again.” She let go of my hands and got up.

As she started walking towards the kitchen she blurted out, “That bastard cop! It’s his fucking fault…Fucker!”

Word prompt is: Swear


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