I’m not.

I fucking love those little dragons to death but right now I can’t stop thinking about the things that make us who we really are. Who we were before we reproduced. For example, I used to be a snowboarder. Turns out, as I learned in Tremblant last week, I still kind of am.

But this gift — perhaps one of the best Hanukkah gifts I have ever received — went right to the core. To know me is to understand how cathartic and truly vital a well-timed F-bomb is to my soul.

This amazing paperweight is currently en route to its permanent new home on my desk.  I was nick-named “F-bomb” at work years ago.

I’m so grateful to my mother (who said “shit” ONE time when I was seven and is still mortified) for making me and subsequently buying me this fabulous profane desk accessory. She really gets me.

(She also takes care of the dragons three days a week. I know.  I don’t deserve it.)

Moms: find your inner F-bomb and celebrate it.

And don’t get on the motherfucking scale this week.