The other night I was laying on the couch reading, when Abby comes into our living room/dining room/kitchen area (side note: I would never do the great room thing again. Having a separate living room would be lovely) and tosses Eric (who was at the table watching TV) a permission slip for her high school lock-in. So he's reading the fine print and is all like, no more than two energy drinks allowed?, and I'm all, that's no energy drinks for you because that shit will kill you.
And... horrified silence.
People, look, I am not really a swearer in real life. I mean, yes, "shit" is my favorite swear word, but I have children and that kind of has put a damper on my swearing in a general sort of way. Um, in all honesty, though, I do swear in my head all the time. I find it therapeutic.
Anyway, I was all like, I am sooooooo sorry! and Abby was like, you're never sorry when you swear when Dad's not around, and I was all, YOU ARE NOT HELPING.
And then Eric was like, at least you have something to blog about now.