Why we say ‘fuck’ a lot

First of all, please don’t give us that look. You say it, too (and if you don’t, you should – ’cause science confirms that it’s good for your health – and if you don’t believe in the merits of scientific study, I’m not sure we’re gonna see eye to eye on anything else).

If, despite an aversion to science and any subsequent encouragement to Stop Reading Now, you’re here to pass judgment for our use of dirty words, so be it (and BTW, go ahead and judge us for the other confessions, too). Because sometimes, life doles out circumstances that render social proprieties unimportant — and when that happens, worrying about finding oneself subject to judgment about how we get through those life-altering circumstances becomes one of those things about which we can’t afford to give fucks. And so, we don’t.

When Julie’s then-hubby left her for a coworker within weeks of their daughter’s birth, the shock of post-partum-meets-hubby’s-extra-marital-adventures created a reality-vacuum that literally sucked out all preconceived notions she’d previously had about how she would parent.

Crib sleeping? Nope. She and the babe needed each other (commence co-sleeping – and any judgments that may have accompanied that decision).

Pumping breastmilk? That stopped, too. There’s only so much sucking that can go on in life at any one time, and she was well past capacity.

A wardrobe build entirely of Baby Gap? We’re *still* laughing about that one. Because that had been a ‘not-having-kids-until’ contingency!  Of course, the Jr. Shopkeeper is now free to wear as much secondhand baby gap as she could ever want – but her hypersensitivity to seams and texture equates to a total brand rebuff).

Oh, and that ‘we’re gonna watch our language around the baby’ idea (that’s what got us started on this post, right?)? She not only had no one to hold her accountable to the no-potty-mouth commitment she had been made mid-pregnancy, but she also had bigger concerns — like getting the baby to daycare every morning before heading into her corporate management gig.  And forcing herself not to go to bed before 8pm (at her therapist’s guidance). Coming to terms with a newly-combative soon-to-be-former spouse. Oh- and trying not to cry (at least not too much).

As she began to heal, and subsequently headed – heels dragging – into the formal divorce process, she landed on a helpful mantra. It was both passive-aggressive and profane — yet, facing circumstances so far beyond her control, she found the words helpful enough to start encouraging others – in a spirit of humor – to share the love.

Fast forward to the opening of the shop. Julie wondered if others in challenging/frustrating/out-of-control circumstances might legitimately appreciate the phrase she had found so helpful. When she figured out how to wield a heat press (thanks to guidance shared by friends at Monkey In A Dryer), the ‘Namaste, motherfucker’ design that she’d already been printing on book pages and greeting cards now rapidly took wings on hankies and t-shirts…

Incidentally, failing to watch her language around the baby has not produced scandal: the Junior Shopkeeper has yet to drop an F-bomb. Which is kind of astounding, to be honest.

But then, there are a lot of things we do (or don’t do) because we think we should (or shouldn’t). And maybe, we’d be better off focusing on the things that actually matter. Like being kind. And being helpful. And not sweating the small stuff. And maybe — just maybe — actually giving two fucks about the big stuff. Oops. We said it again.

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