Try to control the pull of one magnet to another magnet

The other day I was telling Ian about the moment I realized that adults used swear words. Until I was around twelve, I sincerely thought cursing was strictly an adolescent thing. No adults I talked to or overheard ever thought it was necessary to limit their use of adjectives to expletives like teenagers did, plus my parents always discouraged it, so it seemed likely to me that upon getting a job, putting on a tie, and realizing it was time to grow up, punks my age would toss out swearing as fast as ear gauges. I don't remember which potty-mouthed group of full-grown hoodlums finally burst my pristine little bubble of imagined developmental purity, but I do remember feeling a bit betrayed. I'd never swore, and never felt the compulsion to start when the rest of my friends did, so I was looking forward to reaching Magical Eloquent Big People Land, where everyone else would go back to talking like me. Adulthood got an X added to the "con" list in my mind once I realized that not only now, but for the rest of my life, would I likely be the only one in the room who felt the urge to say "the F word" instead of the real one.

That is, until I'm 90 and, presumably, everyone will suddenly be afraid to use anything but coddling infantile language around me.

Happy Halloween, too, I guess. What used to be OMGbestholidayevr! is considerably lamer when candy severely disrupts my usual eating pattern to the point of tummyache, any decent costume requires me to spend money that could otherwise be put to good use to Support My Caffeine Addiction, and it's my impression that trick-or-treating at this age would be met with either disgust, suspicion, or pity.