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"The big deal is a fucking eyewitness, says she fucking DID do it!!!" Mom shouts in Dad's face showering him in a trickle of spittle.

Dad and I simultaneously point to the cussing jar. Mom sighs, roots through her purse and tosses a quarter in. Dad and I both hold up two fingers. She grunts, and tosses another in, adding "Jesus Christ," and flicking in a third.

The cussing jar is effective in two ways. First it takes your money. Second, it takes your momentum. It's much easier to maintain an argument without cussing in this household.

Dad shrugs, and says "so what? So yer witness was mistaken."

"Is that right, Jean Louise? Is the witness mistaken?"

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