This may give you more insight to my personal character than you want, but it's 'shit.'
It used to be fuck, but I can't really get by with saying that one anymore [and I'm pretty bummed, lemme tell ya!]
I rather suspect that means I'm almost a neanderthal, but there you have it, folks. I blame it on growing up on a dairy farm [lots of shit there]. You have to watch for cow shit when you're walking in the woods at my parents' house. I'm really good at avoiding shit. Shit is my favorite word, but not my favorite substance [although I've seen and dealt with more than my fair share].
When my mom was a kid, someone told her that putting cow shit on her face would take the freckles off. She tried it with some really fresh, really gooey, shitty shit. It burned her face.
Even though it didn't remove the freckles, her bright red, chemical burned face did succeed in distracting people from her excess melanin spots.
In her defense, she was little [like maybe eight or so]. Who ever told her that was pretty mean, don't you think?
The other day, Michaela was yelling from her crib, "Momm-ay! Ine POOP-AY!" And she was. Unfortunately, her new favorite thing is taking all of her clothes off, including her diaper.
I went into her room and found a piece of shit on the sheet [a 'shitty-sheet'] her diaper was off [obviously] and she had peed in the bed as well.
Steve happened to be in the shower [we were getting ready to go to Wednesday night church, of course]. So I carried her [at arm's length] into the bathroom and threw her in the shower with him [threw=placed gently].
As I handed her off to my beloved, I said, "Your daughter shit. She's a shitter."
I had a friend once whose dad called little kids 'yard shitters.' Well, my youngest is a bed shitter. I think I'd prefer it if she shit in the yard. That way I wouldn't have to clean it up.