First impressions were good. The Goat was sweet and kind and polite and well-presented and very attractive.
Never in a million years would Tutti have imagined that only a few years later, post-marriage to The Guru, after the Goat had spilled one too many cups of tea on the couch (as she regularly waited to be waited on after Tutti’s 10-hour-days working in retail) and made one too many judgmental sharp intakes of breath every time Tutti swore (which was often, since The Guru taught her to say the f-word. “Say ‘F'”, he would encourage, laughing. “Say, ‘Uck'”) that she would be screaming every expletive she could think of in The Goat’s face, with her fairly limited expletive-vocabulary.
“Oh shit,” said Tutti, as she spilt some tea on the already tea-stained green foam couch.
“Tsk,” tsked The Goat, judgmentally, passive-aggressively. “Disgusting language.”
Tutti had reached her limit.
“AAAAARGH!” Shrieked Tutti, doing her best impression of a Pterodactyl. “In MY house, I will say what I want. Shit! Bum! Wee! Fuck!”
It was a slippery slope, for Tutti and The Goat.