“Mommy! Daddy said a bad word!” Your daughter tells you, frantically patting your leg as you prepare dinner.

“I didn’t. Don’t know what’s she talking about.” Jason retorted with his arms crossed over his chest, trying (failing miserably) to bite back a smile. He knows he’s guilty. Which means another 10 dollars would be added to the curse jar your daughter made, specifically for her father’s potty mouth.