by incredibly sweet, god-fearing Catholics and Pops (her dad) was a BIG fella and would BELLOW when he was angry (not often but he was always working so...) so she was incredibly well-behaved. Nary a hair out of place.
Well they moved to White Plains and she met my Bronx born-and-raised dad at a dance. He was a handsome guy who swore (and still does, mostly when he’s discussing Republicans) like a champ, and she just thought that was the coolest thing ever for some reason. So they got married and this sweet little Irish girl started to channel a Bowery-tough in her speech patterns. And so it came to pass that when I got a little older and that new daughter smell had passed, when my mom got mad at me she’d call me a “little fucker”. And so it continues to this day, but now I can call her it back and we both fall over each other laughing.
However, since I deal with the public and have had many a job functioning as a liaison for high-value clients, I can turn it on and off at will. However, left to my own devices I will swear like the little fucker I was born to be.
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