A sweet old lady in her nineties, whom Ian regularly visits, gave him this pink piggy money box as a present. About an hour ago he announced that he will use it as a swear box. Each time he swears he has to put a pound in it. When full, the money will go to a charity (which one is still to be decided).
It wasn't long before the first pound went inside. I was questioning him about something I disagreed with, and he told me to stop asking b... stupid questions. The second pound had to go in not long after the first. He was asleep on the sofa and I looked up my book ranking on Amazon. 'Ooh, it's sold one today!' I yelled, jolting him into the land of the living and out he came with another swear word.
If he carries on swearing at this rate it will soon be full. He says I'm purposely antagonising him into swearing. (No, I'm not, says I innocently. Come on, Ian, you can't blame me. You're not a puppet.) I've decided not to join him in this particular fund raising for charity venture. It's not that I swear a lot normally. Actually I swear very little, but if I start thinking about it and trying not to, then I'm sure the words will just come out.
So I'll leave this one to him and see how he gets on. Watch this space.