I say F-Bomb. Not the crasser word that F-bomb represents, I literally say F-Bomb.

For instance, when the businessman woke up last Saturday, itching to do a small project like try to seal of a couple mouse holes. After an hour of loud thumping I made my way down to the basement, turned the corner and hysterically shrieked:

"What the F-bomb are you doing to My Sewing Room?"

And he mumbled something about camping gear and dead mice.

Then I saw he tossed some of his possibly mouse carcass infected gear on my sewing table that has a huge pile of silk lying on it.

"Are you F-Bomb kidding me?"

See how well it works as a swear word?

What I Made:

I made him go to the hardware store and get shelves and evicted his nasty campgear from My Sewing Room. Now that closet is reserved for seasonal decorations. He's pretty sure there were no mice in the sleeping bags. Because, as a mouse, a nice soft fluffy sleeping bag is the last place I would make a nest.

Someday I'll tell you about Airquote Favors.