Where I work, we have a few local regulars, people who drive up the mountain from Salt Lake to take advantage of the relaxing atmosphere, take a dip in the hot tub and maybe take a yoga class. This morning, three such ladies, who particularly enjoy the yoga classes, came in. Wearing top-of-the-line athletic clothing, and looking like they’d be the ones who teach you to hold your pinky up while sipping your tea and reminding you of all the ways LADIES act (I’d list some, but not being much of a lady myself, I’m not really familiar with those rules)if you went to a finishing school. As I handed them their robes, they thanked me graciously and asked if the regular yoga instructor would be teaching today.
“No. Today there’s a substitute.”
“Oh, is she ill?”
“She probably just has a school function with her kids or something. I don’t think it’s serious.”
“Oh, well, that’s good. I’m sure we’ll still like the class.”
As she starts down the hall, I say, “by the way, the sub is teaching pilates…”
“F@*K!”
It was a long, drawn out, disappointed f*bomb that she quickly tried to catch and push back into her mouth before it was completely out. With wide eyes, embarassed, she looked at me. I let out a very loud laugh, the therapeutic kind, and said a little prayer in my heart for the pilates instructor.
Tales from the Krisp 
Awww…I love it when ladies swear.
Do you know that I never understood why Ralphie said “Fuuuuuuuudge” for the substitute of “the mother of all swear words” in A Christmas Story??
I didn’t even know what the f-word was until I was in high school. And my last name was Buck. How does that work?