Only the kitty grit is keeping me humble now.
That and a certain line by Miller, literary titan and author of The Colossus of Maroussi. You see, when our rebel rocked up in Iraklion, he succumbed to a common travel complaint. And he wrote: "I got the jitterbugs so bad that I made c@ca* in my pants."
No, Henry. Bad, BAD!
The illness doesn't squeam me out. Nor the oversharing. My problem is pure vocabulary. Anyone pushing 50 should not coyly "make c@ca".
Just own it, man. Take the charcoal, eat the rice and own the ailment in all the raw and ribald language that earned you a landmark obscenity trial.
* My squirrely typeface is not merely to elude Google Ad censure. I'm also avoiding link-farmers with poor comprehension skills, the sort who once boomed net traffic to my article Lair of the Bear, which mentioned bear sc@t. But not in the romantic sense their kinky readers craved...