If my husband were in a talent competition, he would have a few things in his bag of tricks to choose from. While riding the mechanical bull may not be his strongest skill, rope climbing, monkey bars, and nose whistling would all be in the running. There is one skill, however, that he does better than anyone I know. No one else I know is uncouth enough to do this with the gusto and frequency that he does.
He burps curse words.
If he really needs to let it fly, he doesn’t take the time to muster a burp, he just curses like the rest of us and even adds a touch of whimsy with favorites like “f@%k me in the goat a$$” and “tits McGee”, that make sense only to him and lonely shepherds. The burped words are just a way of extending a casual burp, and making it more enjoyable for bystanders. He also contends that it isn’t really cursing, because it’s a burp. I contend that it isn’t really a burp, if it says this to me when I’m trying to make a cup of coffee in the morning:
“son of a B——iiiiiiitch”
He also feels that its okay to do this within hearing range of the children, who are three and four. He argues that it’s a foreign language so complex, that they can’t possibly translate, let alone mimic.
If I’m being honest, I might be a wee bit jealous, and here’s why. I didn’t burp until I was in my 20’s.
You’re not believing me? I’ll say it again, as I have nothing to gain from lying. I NEVER BURPED UNTIL I WAS AN ADULT. I wasn’t holding back, I wasn’t demure, I just couldn’t do it. Not on purpose. Not by accident. It. Never. Happened. At this point you’re thinking “But the gas has to escape some way??!!”. Don’t worry, it escaped, I just prefer to write things that embarrass my husband, and not me.
My best friend as a kid was a phenomenal burp artist. She could burp words and even sentences on command, like no one I’ve ever seen. When you’re ten, these are important credentials to look for in a BFF, and I worshipped her tween talent. As far as my burplessness, I maintain that there was some sort of physical delay that corrected itself for me as I grew older. As an adult, although I can’t burp on command, I burp frequently and with average tone and vibrato.
Looking back, I may have subconsciously chosen my husband because of his word-burping strengths. Given my fascination with it at an early age, and my own delayed abilities, this may have been an attempt on my part to give my own spawn a fighting chance to burp like normal people before they turned 25.
Today, I’m happy to say that at least one of my children shows early signs of speaking Burp-ese.
My youngest is three and loves the alphabet. He sings the alphabet song all the time and I heard this in passing the other day:
Yep folks, an unexpected burp bubbled up at ‘S’, and that little guy just worked it in and kept on going like a champ. He didn’t acknowledge it, and he didn’t look up.
While he’s only burping letters now, it’s only a matter of time until his official BSL (burping as a second language) courses with dad start and he’s bilingual. Hopefully we can hold off on the curse words until at least second semester. And by second semester, I mean college. Otherwise, that will be a teacher conference that dad will be attending.
This post was originally featured on Susan’s blog, Pecked To Death By Chickens.