In which I really, really stop swearing

A few weeks ago I took li'l ~j. shopping. It was a Saturday, and we went to a place I had never been before, but had heard about good deals and whatnot. It was the kind of outlet store which included furniture, bedding, trinkets, jewelry, and clothes that would never fit yours truly.

We found a few items for li'l ~j. to try on, and we went into the changing room (she'll be 10 next week -- she still wants me with her in the fitting room). While she was getting dressed, she was talking. Talking, talking, talking. I know that children don't always have the most fascinating things to say when they're that age, but I make the effort to let her know that I'm really listening, that I really hear what she's saying. (This takes much effort on my part.) She was telling me about a conversation she had with a girl at school . . .

"...and she told me, 'ALL' grown-ups swear,' and I told her, 'Not all of them,' and she said, 'I'll bet you a million dollars that they do,' and I said, 'Sure!' and we shook hands and then she said, 'Okay, now give me a million dollars,' and I told her, 'You're wrong, I KNOW that my mom doesn't swear,' and she said, 'I bet she does,' and I said, 'I think I know my mom better than you do, and I promise that she doesn't swear.' Right, Mom?"

*ahem*

"Right."

Starting now.

I heard her that time.