lately i’ve had the brain and {cringe} mouth of a twelve-year-old boy.

pair those up with my mild case of turret’s and i’m a walking, talking bah-dum-bum-CHING poster for crude.

the silliest, most inane, immature, off-color, quips kindle in my brain, and then WORSE!….escape from my mouth.

maybe it’s the fact that hunkiest and i are childless.

there are no precious, impressionable ears around keeping us mannerly and genteel.

we’ve turned the household into a full-fledged judd apatow movie.

instead of our usual mushy texts and romantic phone calls to each other, we quote john c. reilly and now melissa mccarthy.

flirty and tender has taken a hiatus into frat-house hee-haw.

this vacation into vulgarity often snags me into the stickiest of predicaments.

tuesday at the market, my sweet friend edward, who has checked and bagged my groceries since he was 14 {i’m praying he’s now 18}, was making his typical, polite conversation to me, captain foot in her mouth.

“did you see how big the zucchini is in that box?” he innocently asked.

scareeeeeeeeeeeeeech!!! my pen stops mid signature, my laundry list of  have to’s ceases to nag me for the first time in 48 hours, and my inner hamster of anxiety and worry halts on a dime.

 it feels as if the whole market has come to a whisper halt.

oh no he didn’t.

i could just let this go; ignore the easy set up.

but that would be like ignoring trash on the sidewalk; or a lost dog in the street.

it’s a moral imperative that i follow through on the funny, right? at least that’s what i told myself.

ugh!!!!!

head cocked, gaze fixed, edward locked in my crosshairs, i ask, á la anne bancroft,:

“what was that edward“? {knowing exactly what he had just said}

“the zucchini, in that box, it’s HUGE.” he repeats

more silence.

lot’s of it.

and my stare.

i know exactly where i’m about to go and that i should stop it.

i call on buddhas, saints, wild horses. i conjure images of dead, mutilated, distracting kittens and i still can’t rein it in.

i am powerless against my raunch.

“edward, this box doesn’t settle for small zucchini.”

{thumb to chest in best oc/cougar housewife impersonation}

yep. word for filthy word.

and poor sweet edward, eyes the size of airplanes, mouth wider than the nile; no ability to respond to my borderline pedophilia banter.

we silently finished the transaction; save for an eye contact avoiding thank you, and i was on my merry, lewd, humiliated way.

don’t let the upturned collar and string of pearls fool you.

twirling skirts, peonies in pink, hugs not hate; they’re all just micro bits in the batter of this freckled fruitcake.

deep down i have the mouth of a dirty whore and the impulsivity of a labrador puppy.

and you’d think i’d learn my lesson.

yesterday i was subbing a spin class. my regular crew is somewhat accustom to my tart tongue, but when going into a new class i try to keep on my toes: say very little, ease up on the hip-hop, and watch my verbage.

 but there i go, three minutes into class, Jay Z ripping his mf’ers, and rather than saying “go faster” like a proper teacher, andrew dice clay here told everyone to, “spank it.”

waiting for my termination notice.

happy weekend bitches m’loves.