I'm the kind of person who skips to the conversation when reading a book.
Mumford and Sons was playing in the living room when I walked in this morning. My husband had taken the day off from work to get some painting done in there. Even though he owns two hand-me-down ipods, he often borrows Hannah’s Nook to listen to Pandora while he works.
She furrowed her brow in thought. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Why?”
“It’s playing in the living room right now,” I told her. “I’m not sure what Dad will think of it.” I paused for a second, then added, “And I’m not sure I’m wild about Hannah listening to it.”
“Yeah,” she said. She knew what I meant.
The thing about “Little Lion Man” is that the “f” word is the right word.
I rarely, rarely use profanity. Like almost never. The last time I remember using profanity was about a year ago, and, as coincidence would have it, I was quoting “Little Lion Man.”
I was having a conversation with my older children about events that happened before any of them were born, I actually said the one line. I said it quietly, “I really f***ed it up this time.”
Charlie’s head immediately shot up. “Mom,” he said, “you said f***!”
Yes, I did. It was the right word.
Charlie, although he was in his twenties, had never heard me say that word. People overuse weighty words and they lose their impact.
In “Little Lion Man” they use the “f” word. I played that song over and over on my mp3 player last year. It was like lancing an infected boil. Each time I confessed that I had f***ed it up while singing that song in my head, a little more of the rotten putrid yuck escaped and I healed.
Mark Twain once said, “The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.”
Mumford and Sons chose the right word for their song.
I don’t think I’m going to edit it for my husband or my daughter.
Thanks to today’s Daily Prompt: Take the third line of the last song you heard and make it your post title.