The above title says it all. In fact, this story can end right now, but if you’re bored or curious, please read on.
My favorite soap as a kid was Ivory. This bar soap clearly out-beat Dial, Zest, and A&P’s generic brand of 60-years past.
In fact, the real reason I preferred Ivory was not because it floated in the tub unlike other soap brands; it was largely because Ivory wasn’t flavored with bouquets of scents and additives, adorned only to make little impish kids like me both cringe and cry.
You see, I wasn’t especially persnickety about how clean this tool to sanitary ends worked. I was, however, the recipient of an occasional mouth-washing for letting loose with a vile canard, or two.
Since I was only 8-years old at that time, I was not old enough to drive, enlist in the military, or smoke cigarettes, my Mother felt I was much too young to curse just like my Dad. Being a factory worker surrounded by other factory workers, Dad was “seasoned” when it came to verbal expressions during occasional times of stress.
Not being well-versed in the fine art of swearing, I grew up carefully watching and mimicking Dad using tools to measure, cut, shape, nail, and otherwise build really neat and functional stuff for our house. Those special times are what we currently refer to as “grooming,” or “formative years.”
Dad did lots of building and fixing. As such, I did lots of learning the English language. Betwixt and between learning the fine art of effectively using a tape measure, hammer, pliers, plus a broom and dustpan, I was able to exponentially expand my vocabulary. That’s because every now and then a word with which I was unfamiliar would squirt out of his mouth and directly into my little ears.
So, when I would proudly help Dad finish some of his sentences, Mom would dash into the bathroom, promptly returning with the Ivory.
Swinging a hammer to drive a brad into nicely manicured trim moulding, the sharp finish nail would split the board, thereby damaging and essentially, ruining the wood. “Son of a…” my Dad began the sentence. Such is where I expected was my turn to summarily finish this emotional pressure relief.
Alas, it wasn’t.
This exercise in life was very confusing for me since I was instructed to help my Father, which I did. And thus progressed my carpentry experience. Fortunately, it didn’t take long to associate certain words with a soap-in-the-mouth snack.
But it was with interest that I watched politicians, union representatives, teachers, federal guvment workers, as well as other useless mouth-breathers, all of whom feel they have a bone to pick with President Trump, easily found television cameras just a few weeks ago.
Lined up as if awaiting to receive a free drink, these whiners were delighted to climb up the featured podium to use expletives directed at both President Donald Trump and DOGE creator, Elon Musk.
Easily identified as ‘rank amateurs’ in the cussing arena, many of these wannabe bad boys and bad girls gave it their best in the form of S-words, A-words, D-words, in addition to the mother-of-all swear words, the F-word, all to wild cheering. The worst part? It was all unnecessary and they appeared weak in their deliveries.
Eventually I learned to keep my mouth shut when in polite company – something all the aforementioned amateurs should take under advisement. Of course, they won’t. Of course, because they are smarter than you and me.
Take some solid advice from a seasoned veteran: If you need to swear, do so quietly; if you do swear, fully expect your mother to wash your mouth out with soap.
There you have it. By the way, I haven’t bought Ivory soap in my entire life, although it’s my favorite.
