A few weeks ago the kid needed a jar, so I gave her one of the canning jars that her dad didn’t use. When I asked her what she needed a jar for she told me it was a “Swear Jar” and that whenever someone swore she was going to charge them $3.00.
I told her that I didn’t think her father would pay out the $3.00, it was a little steep. So she brought her price down a little bit.
And then a little bit more.
And then a lot a bit more.
I can’t remember what she finally settled on. Or if she told her dad that she was using one of his canning jars. Or if she also told him that sheÂ was going to start charging him every time he swore and did NOT use the predetermined universal swear word that she assigned us this summer: FADOODLE.
As in: What the fadoodle?
Or: That fadoodle dog ate my book! Again!
The jar has been sitting in her bedroom ever since she asked for it. Unmarked and empty.
Last nightÂ she was in her bedroom reading a book, her dad was in the next room playing a video game, and I was in our bedroom which is clear across the house — and that’s when a word came out of his mouth and it WAS NOT the assigned predetermined universalÂ swear word.
The next thing I knowÂ is thatÂ he’sÂ stomping across the house, she’s chasing him with her empty swear jar, he’s picking up clothes in our bedroomÂ and shaking them, then he shoves his hands into one pocket and produces some coins which he tosses into her jar while clarifying to her thatÂ IT WASN’T EVEN A SWEAR WORD — IT WAS A CUSS WORD!
Swear. Cuss. Whatever. She’s not fadoodling around.