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My husband helped me with dinner tonight. He was in charge of turkey burgers and I made bean and pasta salad. I told him he couldn't swear once while cooking. I got some dirty looks and smirks when I imitated his "Can I get an f---ing break? Just once?" saying (cause you know, when something goes wrong, it's always going wrong at the same time, every day).

I had pasta draining in a small colander, next to the sink and amongst some other dishes (we don't have much counter space, and what we did have, I was letting him have it). He reached over to grab something, and wham! there goes all my pasta shells.

Sigh...no worries. And...no swearing! Amazing. I just got another pot boiling to cook some more pasta.

Then he had a slight battle with hamburger buns -- trying to get them back into the freezer and to stay in said freezer. I did the swearing for him, adding my own little twist and inflections to his usual.

I had managed to throw away red onion slices that I cut for the burgers, so I cut some more. I had cleared off the table and put a glass of tea next to his plate. I was getting ready to put greens and the onions on the burgers when wham! he knocks the glass of tea over, all over the red onions and the table.

He let out all the swear words he refused to say just to prove me wrong because I told him he couldn't get through cooking without swearing.

He told me not to cut any more onions. I said I needed them to mask the turkey taste, so I was going to cut some more.

Then he asked if there was anything else he could break or knock over. I asked him to put the bottle of mayo back in the refrigerator. I also advised him not to trip while doing it. Or to step on the cat's tail.

I guess instead of bottling up the swearing (although Zit really doesn't appreciate it), it's got to come out some way, some how and at some time, otherwise he's a walking disaster. Zit's gotta get some really good ear muffs or he's got to learn to take it outside and swear at the bushes.