There was an explosion of language when I was a girl, something my parents, grandparents and the cop on the corner highly disapproved of. “You were such a nice girl,” my worried mother would say when I was 20, “Now I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” “Ma,” I’d say coolly, Don’t flip your wig, ok? In my mother’s case, this was particularly apt since she actually did wear wigs, changing them like hats for different occasions. There was a musical explosion, a movie explosion, explosions in style and...
