S-Mum, Maria, has come to realisation that we should really stop swearing.

​I say “we” to include ALL of the members of my family who sometimes swear; you know? Me, The Him… Mini-Me…

In the past few weeks, little Miss Moral Knickers has upped her game of correctional disapproval. If anyone drops a swear word, her reaction is to announce “BAD WOD!” with an urgency and fervour to match only a Mamma who ALMOST spills her wine. Her speed and accuracy are AMAZING!
Mini-Me’s aunty stubbed her toe yesterday and, of course, reacted with a FABLIS rendition of JEEEEEEESUS CHRIIIIIIST!

BEFORE she had even pronounced the T at the end of Christ, we heard “BAD WOD!” resounding through the air…from ANOTHER ROOM!

Even watching Peppa Feckin’ Pig, by which she is, (like most kids), for some reason ENGROSSED to the point that I doubt she’d notice if SANTA HIMSELF walked in, her high-moral-horse-ness picked up on the expletive in the other room and had it suitably disciplined within nanoseconds.
Impressive.

The funniness of her reaction however, is LESS FUNNY when she starts correcting non-family members.
Our Gardener was here earlier and got admonished for his accidental use of “Sh*t”. He tripped over the dog-horse.

It was a perfectly appropriate use of emergency expletive, but not for Mini-Me.

“BAD WOD!”

(Thankfully, he too has bossy minions of his own…)
On Saturday, The Him announced “I keep forgetting to put that bloody box in the attic.”
“BAD WOD!”

“I did NOT say a Bad Word!?”

“Yes, you did Daddy.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“I heard you. You said Bloody Box. Dat wight Mum?”

“I did NOT!”
Me and Bloke stifling spontaneous combustion…”You did Honey. She’s right I’m afraid.”
He genuinely didn’t even realise he’d said it and proceeded to apologise. “Ah ok! Silly Daddy didn’t mean to say that. You were right.”
Cue smug little fartsickle shrugging her shoulders and saying “See! Told ya!” before flouncing to her room.
The Bloke starts to laugh.

We have the “very seriously good parenting we really need to stop swearing, before she starts repeating us!” conversation…
The Him continues laughing.

“BEFORE she starts? She told me yesterday I was a Duckhead.”
Oh.

Sweet. Gemima.
And that’s not the worst one.

I had jumped out and frightened her that morning and had a good old giggle to myself as she ran screaming down the hall. Apparently what I didn’t hear because of my guffawing was her telling her teddy “She’s a Beach!”

So there you go.

My Mother-Theresa-esque-Morally-superior Mini-Me is actually an absolute potty mouth.
I am officially terrified that she will decide to use her colourful language at school and her lovely young and polite Teacher will think she comes from a family of potty mouths… She does of course, but it’d be nice to keep that hidden for a while.

Terrible isn’t it? I’ll await the referral Social Services and the disapproving eyebrows from the perfect parents who never let their kids HEAR them swear, ? and I promise to try to be a better example to her.
But as a positive, she has been using them in the correct context, so as a language teacher I must commend that. ?