A little stress relieving profanity never hurts

I pride myself on evolving into a wholesome stay at home suzie home maker mommy. But every once in awhile my rowdy past rears up and I am not claiming responsibility for what I do or say!! Last night was one of those nights and what spewed from my mouth was a shrieking chorus of Motherfuckers that would make a sailor proud.

I had gotten all my kids showered and tucked into bed and decided to call it an early night. I head into the bathroom to remove my contacts, put on my pajamas and brush my teeth. I reach up to the window ledge to get a bag of flossers and the bag accidentally knocks over a bottle of red nail polish. In slow motion I see this happening and think in my head.....no, no, no....please don't break.

SMASH. SHATTER.

MOTHERFUCKER. I scream this. Seriously. There is red, and I mean bright cherry red, nail polish everywhere. Not to mention shattered glass all over the white bathroom tiles and the wood floor of my bedroom. What the hell do I do? I try to tip toe out of the bathroom to grab a box of wet wipes in Maddens room. The flipping box is empty, so now I'm rooting in his closet trying to open a new package of wipes...in the dark mind you. I get them opened and run back to my room and try to start wiping the mess off the floor. It's already dried. MOTHERFUCKER I scream again. Quick dry nail polish....really does dry quick. (I should write to the company and tell them how much I appreciate that their product really works....just not on my motherfucking floors!!) OK...this is not getting the red off the wood or tile. I need nail polish remover. I jump up and try to tip toe out of the bathroom again around the glass and blobs of red paint. MOTHERFUCKER. I step on a piece of glass and now my big toe is bleeding....or is that red nail polish? No, it's blood. No time for a band aid...this shit is drying on the floor and walls and Shaw is gonna kill me.

So I leave a trail of bloody toe prints down the hallway to the linen closet and grab the nail polish remover and a bag of cotton balls. Back to the bathroom and tip the remover bottle upside down and its empty. AHHHH MOTHERFUCKER. Who the hell put an empty bottle of nail polish remover away? Well there are only 2 girls in the house who wear polish and it wasn't me, so I'm thinking I know who did it. Back out to the hallway...toe still bleeding...and go into Brooklyn's room. Open her nail polish drawer and there is the new bottle of remover. Back in the bathroom I quickly get to work trying to wipe the tile floor and the walls and the bedroom wood floor. Thank God it's working. I use about 50 soaked cotton balls, but the red polish is finally off all the tile and wood surfaces. I look at my hands and they are covered in red polish. So I practically pour the rest of the bottle over my hands and rub as I try to remove the polish from my skin. Thankfully it's also coming off quite easily. My tank top on the other hand....trashed. Splattered red polish over a yellow tank is not a good look...unless for Halloween I want to look like a stabbing victim. Hmmm...might hold onto the tank top.

Onto my bleeding toe. A quick wash in the tub and a band aid and good as new. Clean up the trail of bloody toe prints before Shaw gets home and I jump into bed to read.

As stressful as that whole 15 minutes was....I felt great. There is something quite therapeutic in hollering out MOTHERFUCKER. I suggest you try it. Much cheaper than a therapist!