Old McGranny had a cunt

A few summers ago, I was driving somewhere with my mom, sister, and little grannie. My mom and I were talking about something that set me off on a rant, although I can’t remember what. I was about to call someone a cunt-face, when I remembered that my grannie was in the car, so I stopped myself and said, “uh, I mean, she’s a C.” (Note that it didn’t seem to bother me to use such language in front of my mom, which probably strikes some people as odd, but she’s used to my foul mouth by now. And sheherself is not above calling people “fuckballs” and the like.) My grandmother said she knew what I was about to say.
I said, “no you don’t, grannie.”
She said, “Yes. Yes I do.”
“Well what was I going to say then?”
“You were going to say cunt. C-U-N-T. Cunt.” She then stared singing it. “C-U-N-T. Cunt. Cunt. Cunt. C-U-N-T.” (It was a little like listening to a demented version of “Old MacDonald,” like: “old MacDonald had a cunt – C-U-N-T-!” Hopefully, my grannie will not be visiting any school children in the near future.)

OK, I admit I was shocked. Where did my cute little grannie learn such things? She seemed annoyed. “I was young once, you know,” she explained.

And really, when I think about it, it does make some sense. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Welcome to my family.