“Wedeeeeeercool,” the narrator recalls, a cry once uttered by his mother whenever trouble erupted at home. Morning found the father shouting, “Laossssssssss… the peace of the night,” as a faucet he had just fixed burst open and flooded the bathroom. On the third day of the week, or whenever the night’s gloom pressed down from their parents, the brothers sought escape. “Pillows,” the marquise quipped, as if joking about a mute audience to the spectacle. As a child, the narrator imagined an aristocrat lying on a bed and begging for more pillows to surprise those who believed he could not speak, a fantasy far removed from the real chaos of broken glass, news headlines, or the inexplicable pull of the world outside. When those early curses finally crossed their lips, two paradoxes emerged. First, the parents blamed the children for the rude outbursts that their own efforts to curb swearing had failed to prevent. Second, and perhaps more telling, the adults began to utter long-repressed terms themselves, releasing a torrent that had been bottled up for years. The family learned to ease the pressure valve, trading euphemisms for honesty, even if the process felt like a small revolt inside a house already well acquainted with noise. The gratitude for all the bad milk that had to be discarded rather than used in euphemism underscored a larger truth about parenting and resilience. The author reflects on how inexhaustible it can be to navigate a life that moves faster than one can keep up with, especially on a Wednesday when the familiar routine feels both comforting and chaotic.
When there are no children in front of him, a demanding audience often remains. A reporter from a Spanish outlet found himself live on air during the coverage of a major royal moment and muttered an offensive fallback under his breath because a voice from the crowd insisted on interrupting the footage. The moment drew sharp reactions as producers wrestled with the urge to intervene. Earlier, a television host addressed listeners with a candid question about a newly released book, sparking a public conversation about media boundaries and propriety. The incident itself became a minor scandal, amplified by the social dynamics of high-profile friendships in the royal circle. In response, science offers a language of reassurance. A recent study in a respected linguistic journal argues that swearing, far from being merely crude, can function as a potent form of emotional expression and a tool for social bonding. Swearing can add credibility, sharpen messages, and sometimes even reinforce political narratives when used with intention. It is also suggested to have a relaxing effect on the body and can engage memory and cognitive processes in ways that feel almost counterintuitive. Some researchers propose that uttering strong words may increase tolerance, heighten perceptual awareness, and strengthen mental endurance, a consideration that resonates in times of social stress and inflation. The piece notes that such language, used judiciously, can shape how audiences perceive authority and solidarity, especially during moments of public discourse that demand resilience and clear stance. The author hints at a broader, almost paradoxical utility of profanity: it can soften or sharpen messages, depending on the context, and it can serve as a tool for navigating the tensions of contemporary life while offering a form of mental relief even amid daily pressure.