They were fat and juicy, like stubby grubs, and I rolled them around in my mouth, savouring their worminess

I say old chap, get your bleeping bumper off the rear end of my bleeping car or Ill get out and kick the bleep out of you

I thought about it while cutting onions. I thought about it after stubbing my big toe on the trolley thing under the bed that is meant to contain shoes but has become a cage for trapped underpants. I also thought about it while talking to Medical Aid Mark, who had seemed nice at the beginning of our phone call but suddenly became annoying when I realised I would not be getting my R9 000 back.

Bleepers. Lousy bleeping pieces of bleep.*

Now I know some people think swearing is bad. The first time I swore in front of my parents, my mother cried. I had become evil. I had strayed from the flock. It would only be a matter of time before I started hacking up kids at school and stealing the Girls’ Under 12 100m trophy – which, admittedly, did taunt me every time I dragged my loser ass past it.

And all I had said was “damn”.

While I swore occasionally at high school, it was only when I went to Argentina that I discovered the profundity of profanity. Three days after landing in Buenos Aires, a boy called Pablo sat me down in a park and wrote out two pages of essential Spanish malas palabras (bad words). They were fat and juicy, like stubby grubs, and I rolled them around in my mouth, savouring their worminess: puta, mierda, coger, pija, culo, concha. My mother was thousands of kilometres away. I was 17, swearing and about to snog a boy called Pablo, who was short, but a talented photographer.

Which brings me to my thoughts. Just as I had embraced a boy who came up to my waist, surely it’s time we embraced swearing? After all, they’re just words – and they’ve become so common even e.tv doesn’t excise them.

Bunion is a dirty word. So is cyst. Yet people are allowed to use them. I can’t count the number of times my mother-in-law has told me about her ovarian Cs and her foot Bs. If she’s allowed to stop minding her Ps and Qs, inflicting vile words upon me, then I want to be free to yell “bleeeeeeeeeeeeeep!” whenever I hear her voice on the phone or have to take her to yet another bleeping cactus sale.

The great thing about swear words is they can be used positively or negatively. Take bleep, for example. It can be used in the following contexts: “Oh, bleep! I just ran over the neighbour’s child”, to express tragedy and remorse; or “Bleep, dude! No way!” as an exclamation of awesomeness, or “You little bleep, you”, as a teasing jest, or “Do NOT bleep in the garden”, reserved for an old friend called Dave who has spent the last three years living in a hedge near Stanford and foraging for turnips.

Besides, swearing is good for you. Scientists from Keele University have found it triggers a “fight or flight” response, which makes us more able to deal with pain.

Scenario 1: You’re starving. You grab a toasted cheese sandwich, bite into it and burn your tongue. You could proclaim: “My, my, the ambient temperature of that molten dairy product has caused a sensation of elevated heat on my large oral muscle.” Or you could holler: “Bleeeeeep! Bleepy, bleeping hell!” I guarantee the latter will make you feel instantly better while the former will only prolong the pain.

Scenario 2: A colleague has been annoying you for weeks with tales of how switching to First For Women has saved her R5.35, which she is now putting towards a family holiday in Gansbaai. To maintain your sanity, you could turn to her and say: “Now listen, old chap. It’s pleasing that your financial endeavours are going so swimmingly, but I am extremely occupied at present and would appreciate some spatial respect.” Or you could just snap: “Bleeping hell! Enough already!” That would shut her up.

If everyone got on board with the swearing thing, the air wouldn’t turn blue; it would just be normal. News readers could announce: “There are a bleep-load of protesters on the N2,” Derek van Dam(n) could tell us it’s going to be “bleeping freezing” and beer adverts could just be accompanied by three words: “Gets you bleep-faced.”

And I swear the world would be a more honest, peaceful place.

l All bleeps stand for actual swear words. This is a family newspaper and I value my job.