One of the pleasures of a road trip with my parents is listening to the stories they tell. Most of them I've heard--which doesn't diminish my affection for them--but a few I hadn't. Like this one, for example.
Once when my great-grandma Pat (game warden of Sublette County who slept with a shot gun) was driving through LaBarge--(which had the reputation of being such a wild town that Ava was not allowed to go dancing there until after she was married) (also it was the home of the local prostitute, known far and wide as "Saddlehorn")--she got so angry with someone who crossed Highway 189 in front of her, that my great-grandmother pulled over, crawled out of her car, and yelled, "GET OUT OF MY WAY, YOU DUMB SON OF A BITCH."
You see? I come by my cussing honestly.