I’ve figured it out!  You don’t want me to cuss?  Fine.  I think I’ll go British.  I know, I know.  They actually speak English, but I’m pretty sure I was the original Bridget Jones.  Sure, I’m no Renee Zellweger, but I like a good rant. 

You see, growing up I raised cattle with my family and I scooped many a crap pile.  Apparently, that lifestyle lends itself to learning a whole other type of vocabulary.  Who would have thought?  Huh.  Yet, my language is inappropriate for civilized, mature women in their 30’s, according to my husband (as we’ve already established).  I, on the other hand, feel quite an enjoyable release from cussing at the top of my lungs when things are less than stellar.   As you can see, it leads to quite a conundrum. 

So I’ve decided it is best to go British.  Plus, isn’t it totally fitting with my background that I can call someone a rancid cow?  I love it! 

I figure it serves a happy medium.  I get to cuss, but it doesn’t quite sound like it to my hubby.  I mean, it just doesn’t sound nearly as offensive when I tell someone to “Sod off!”  Yet, we all know what I’m saying.  It just doesn’t start with an F. 

Another example: I could go drinking with friends.  Shocker, I know, but I can go get pissed or sozzled.  I prefer sozzled.  It kinda sounds like I’ve been hangin’ with Snoop Dogg.  I can get sozzled or fer shizzled.  Either way, I’m drunk like a staggering skunk, but it seems more dignified.  Of course, there’s nothing more fun that making crap of all the people around you once you get sozzle-faced.  I always point out the daft cows, the wankers just looking for an Austin Powers-type shag, and giant arses.  They’re usually pretty easy to suss out.  (See, doesn’t it sound all sophisticated?)  Then again, I get pretty cheeky about everybody once I get the drunken perma-smile.  But it’s better to be flippant, than cheesed off.  I am a happy drunk!

Sure, we can talk about my drinking habits for hours, but the most important term the British use is holiday.  They are always taking a holiday.  Oh, how I love an excuse to take a holiday.  And boy, do we need to be more like the British on that one!  There’s nothing like a holiday to keep me from frying someone up in a pan or smacking them with a pitchfork of bullocks!  Oh, and guess what?  I am on holiday!  Fab-u-lous!

 So I may be random and living the good life on holiday, and you may be jealous, but sod off if you don’t like it!

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