I laughed my ass off.  Multiple reasons, but the primary one was this:


No one can dictate what another person says or types or thinks.  No one.

I wholeheartedly agree that this sweet little grandmother has the right to not read what I write.  And she's within her right to say that she doesn't want to see it on her page.  But because I don't think she's technologically advanced enough to figure out how to unfriend me or how to block me from her feed, I made it easy.  I just unfriended her.  Big effing deal.

Because she can't dictate my use of the word "shit" but I can protect her right to not see it.

And I use a lot of obscenity.  Curse words just seem silly.  Why did society decide that certain collection of letters to form a word was so absolutely horrible that it had to be restrained in conversation?  I curse, daily, like an educated sailor.  If you're around me and I see you wince or you verbalize that my profanity is uncomfortable, then I'll stop.  I make that effort.  I do it every day at work where society has dictated that dropping the f-bomb would be unprofessional, so I am actually capable of peppering my speech with other less-offensive, equally-colorful words.  Readers, while, sure, yeah, they could say something, can just as easily stop reading.  You aren't a captive audience.

In other life news, I think I scared the house guest.

She gives the impression of being very sweet and innocent and we took her downtown for pizza.  We ended up running into the friend that recently moved her horse, her 100-pound French Mastiff, and her husband.  So, since I already had a table, I invited them to sit with us.  As far as my personal spectrum goes, the conversation didn't get that weird.  But for a sweet college kid?  Yeah.  Maybe.  Both my friend and I are covered in tattoos, her military husband has tattoos, and the dog was an absolute (sweet) beast.  And we were drinking. ...I think she might be leaving early today.  :(

When the husband got home yesterday, he saw that one of my kids had tinked on the carpet.  Both my dogs are stellarly house-trained, so this generally indicates illness.  In the wee hours of this morning, I was holding a paper plate under the likely culprit, collecting a urine sample while he held her leash.  It was a very "married" moment.  (And, as I'm writing this, I just got a call from the vet - "raging UTI."  Poor Savannah!)

...And, due primarily to being ashamed and anxious, I skipped out of going to the barn last night and instead ended up running into the BO this morning.  Me thinks I'll keep my mouth shut.