Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. For most people on the planet, it had little significance. But for Catholics the world over, it marked the first day of Lenten season, the 40-day period leading up to Easter.

They are, without a doubt, the longest 40 days in any Catholic’s life. And not only because there are actually 47 days. (Apparently we’re not supposed to count the Sundays. Something my CCD teachers neglected to mention.)

Easter is, of course, a time of celebration and renewal. Lent is the antithesis; a time of prayer, fasting and self-sacrifice. The period is meant to signify the time Jesus spent wandering in the wilderness resisting the temptations placed before him by Satan. (Do I have that right, Aunt Kathleen?) And in recognition of that, Catholics do some resisting of temptation of their own.

We have our big blow-out bash on Fat Tuesday, a.k.a. Mardi Gras, and then on Ash Wednesday, we begin our Lenten fast. While the most devout take this truly to heart, your ordinary, every day Catholic (like moi) does two things.

We give up eating meat on Fridays (hence the preponderance of fish frys this time of year) and we give up something. By this I mean, we attempt to abstain from something near and dear to our hearts. Like chocolate. Or booze. Or Facebook.

For the last few years I’ve given up buying books for Lent. Laugh if you will, but for an avid bibliophile like myself, it truly is the ultimate sacrifice. Of late, I’ve done a lot to tone down my book-buying habits and become a devotee of my favorite book-lending institution, the Oxford Memorial Library. And when I contemplated what to give up this year, I realized it wouldn’t be enough of a sacrifice.

I went through the list of old stand-bys – booze, chocolate, caffeine, etc. – but none seemed appropriate. I really don’t drink enough to make booze a worthy sacrifice. Giving up caffeine or chocolate certainly would be, but I have to consider the effect of my choice on those around me. (I can hear my coworkers fidgeting around me, as if through some sixth sense they know I even considered this.)

And then, suddenly, it came to me: I should give up swearing.

You see, I have what some people would refer to as a potty mouth.

Much to the chagrin of my mother, I might add, who is known to whip out her “No daughter of mine” speech when I exhibit language which would make a truck driver proud.

Why do I choose to pepper my speech with such scurrilous turns of phrase? My seventh grade English teacher, Mr. Fisher, always said swearing was a sign of laziness on the part of the speaker. But for me, it was always about shock value.