@#$%&

Generally, I don’t swear that often. Occasionally when I stub my toe or forget something, but not regularly. The husband was kind enough to point out the other day that the exception to this rule is when I’m putting on stockings. Apparently, I swear like a sailor. Of course, he enjoys this because it gives him a chance to feel superior. The irony is that the days I aim to look most like a lady (i.e., I’m wearing a skirt) are the days I behave the least like one in the morning. I roll around on the bed cursing and getting more and more frustrated until I can barely even hold the things because I’m so tense. Of course, to show me that it’s not that hard, a few weeks ago, the husband tells me he’ll help me with the final and most elusive hook. After several attempts, he was convinced it was secure. Fortunately for him, he was nowhere near when the inevitable little “pop” came while I was walking to the bus. Then he would have really heard some unladylike language.