{"id":11747,"date":"2014-10-03T22:03:08","date_gmt":"2014-10-03T13:03:08","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/?p=11747"},"modified":"2026-05-27T06:36:39","modified_gmt":"2026-05-26T21:36:39","slug":"italian-soft-swearing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/italian-soft-swearing\/","title":{"rendered":"Italian Soft Swearing: Cacchio, Cavolo, Mannaggia (B2)"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udd0d <strong>In short.<\/strong> <em>Italian soft swearing<\/em> is what Italians reach for when they want to vent without actually swearing. Words like <em>cavolo<\/em>, <em>cacchio<\/em>, <em>mannaggia<\/em>, <em>accidenti<\/em>, <em>porca miseria<\/em>, <em>caspita<\/em>, <em>perbacco<\/em>, and <em>vaffambagno<\/em> are minced oaths: they sound like the real swears but are clean enough for office, family dinner, and most public situations. This B2 guide walks you through the register ladder from nursery-safe (<em>mannaggia<\/em>, <em>caspita<\/em>) up to informal-only (<em>cacchio<\/em>, <em>porca miseria<\/em>), shows the regional flavors, explains where each one really belongs, and warns you about the slips that betray a foreigner. By the end of italian soft swearing, you&#8217;ll know what to say when you drop your keys, when the tram is twenty minutes late, and when you want to refuse something firmly without offending anyone.<\/p>\n\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\" \/>\n\n<div class=\"gb-container gb-container-toc-iss\"><div class=\"gb-inside-container\">\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\">Cosa impareremo oggi<\/h2>\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udc46\ud83c\udffb Jump to section<\/p>\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\" \/>\n<ul class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li><a href=\"#what-is-soft-swearing\">What italian soft swearing actually means<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#cavolo-cacchio\">Cavolo and cacchio: the two C-words you actually need<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#mannaggia\">Mannaggia: the Southern classic that went national<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#accidenti\">Accidenti: the polite-society expletive<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#porca-miseria\">Porca miseria and the porca family<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#vaffambagno\">Vaffambagno and the vai-a-fare softeners<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#caspita-perbacco\">Caspita, perbacco, accipicchia, cribbio: the vintage shelf<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#regional\">Regional flavors and generational shifts<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#when-not\">When NOT to use italian soft swearing<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#mistakes\">Mistakes English speakers make<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#cheat-sheet\">Cheat sheet<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#dialogue\">Dialogue at a pasticceria in Bologna<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#mini-challenge\">Mini-challenge<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#faq\">Frequently asked questions<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"#related\">Related guides<\/a><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity\" \/>\n<ul class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li><a href=\"#quiz\">Quiz<\/a><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"what-is-soft-swearing\">What italian soft swearing actually means<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Picture this scene. You&#8217;re at a coffee bar under the porticoes in Bologna. A man drops his espresso on the counter, looks at the puddle, and says <em>cavolo!<\/em> with a small grimace. Italian soft swearing has just done its job. He vented his frustration, the barista smiled, the elderly lady next to him kept reading her paper. No one was offended, no rule was broken, no apology was owed. This is the territory of <em>euphemisms<\/em> , minced oaths that let Italians release steam without the social cost of real profanity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Treccani, the Italian linguistic institution, defines <em>eufemismo<\/em> (the broader category that contains italian soft swearing) as a rhetorical figure that substitutes the usual expression with one of <em>attenuated<\/em> meaning, out of moral, religious, social, or polite considerations. Italian soft swearing fits the definition perfectly: <em>cavolo<\/em> stands in for the C-word, <em>vaffambagno<\/em> stands in for <em>vaffanculo<\/em>, <em>porca miseria<\/em> softens the <em>porca<\/em> + sensitive-noun pattern, and so on. The mechanism behind italian soft swearing is universal, English does the same thing with <em>darn<\/em>, <em>shoot<\/em>, <em>fudge<\/em>, <em>heck<\/em>, but the specific words of italian soft swearing are culturally Italian and worth learning carefully if you want to sound natural.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Italian soft swearing matters at B2 because it sits at a register crossroads. Use a real swear in the wrong situation and you look brutish. Use no exclamation at all and you sound robotic. The minced oath is the safe middle. It signals you&#8217;re a native-level speaker who knows the rules, can break them just a little, and has the social radar to pick the right word for the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"cavolo-cacchio\">Cavolo and cacchio: the two C-words you actually need<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">If you only learn two italian soft swearing words, make them <em>cavolo<\/em> and <em>cacchio<\/em>. These two are the gateway to all of italian soft swearing. They&#8217;re both stand-ins for the most common Italian profanity (the C-word starting with <em>caz<\/em>), and together they cover roughly 70 percent of everyday venting. The difference is subtle but real: <em>cavolo<\/em> literally means cabbage and is so harmless that children say it freely. <em>Cacchio<\/em> retains a tiny residual sting of the original swear , it&#8217;s the same syllable shape, just one letter changed , so it feels slightly stronger and slightly more &#8220;knowing&#8221;.<\/p>\n\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li>Che cavolo vuoi da me a quest&#8217;ora? <em>What the heck do you want from me at this hour?<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Cavolo, ho dimenticato le chiavi sul tavolo della cucina. <em>Damn, I left the keys on the kitchen table.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Non ho capito un cavolo di quello che ha detto il professore. <em>I didn&#8217;t understand a thing of what the professor said.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Che cacchio sta succedendo qui dentro? <em>What the heck is going on in here?<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Mi sono fatto un cacchio di mazzo per finire entro venerd\u00ec. <em>I worked my butt off to finish by Friday.<\/em><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The phrase <em>col cavolo!<\/em> deserves its own entry. It&#8217;s a flat, emphatic refusal , the Italian equivalent of &#8220;no way&#8221;, &#8220;like hell I will&#8221;, &#8220;fat chance&#8221;. Beatrice asks you to lend her your car for the third time this month, and you answer <em>col cavolo!<\/em> The construction is fixed: never <em>con il cavolo<\/em>, always <em>col cavolo<\/em>. It works as a one-word reply or as a clause head: <em>col cavolo che ti presto la macchina<\/em> means &#8220;no way am I lending you the car&#8221;.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">A small dose of caution about this corner of italian soft swearing: <em>cacchio<\/em> is mildly more risqu\u00e9 than <em>cavolo<\/em>. With strangers, with your boss, in a formal email, stick to <em>cavolo<\/em>. With friends, in the privacy of your apartment, with peers your own age, <em>cacchio<\/em> is fine. Children of Italian families pick up <em>cavolo<\/em> by age five; they pick up <em>cacchio<\/em> closer to age ten, after a parental glare or two.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"mannaggia\">Mannaggia: the Southern classic that went national<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">If <em>cavolo<\/em> is the all-purpose minced oath of italian soft swearing, <em>mannaggia<\/em> is its Southern cousin that conquered the rest of the country. The word comes from the old Southern dialect contraction <em>male n&#8217;aggia<\/em>, roughly &#8220;may evil befall (it)&#8221;. The literal meaning has been forgotten by virtually everyone, including most native speakers. What survives is a soft, almost cheerful expression of disappointment , so mild that, as the WordReference forum notes, children say it freely in front of teachers and grandmothers.<\/p>\n\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li>Mannaggia, \u00e8 gi\u00e0 finita la sfogliatella! <em>Damn, the sfogliatella is already gone!<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Mannaggia a me, ho dimenticato di chiamare mia madre. <em>Damn me, I forgot to call my mother.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Mannaggia alla pioggia, avevo appena lavato la macchina. <em>Damn the rain, I&#8217;d just washed the car.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Mannaggia a te, mi hai svegliato di nuovo alle sei del mattino. <em>Damn you, you woke me up at six in the morning again.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Mannaggia la miseria, il computer non si accende pi\u00f9. <em>Damn it all, the computer won&#8217;t turn on anymore.<\/em><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The grammar is flexible: <em>mannaggia<\/em> can stand alone (<em>Mannaggia!<\/em>) or take a noun phrase as its target. <em>Mannaggia + a + person<\/em> means &#8220;damn that person&#8221;, but the tone stays mild even there , <em>mannaggia a te<\/em> from a parent to a child sounds more affectionate than threatening. <em>Mannaggia + la\/al + thing<\/em> blames the situation (<em>mannaggia al traffico<\/em>, <em>mannaggia alla pioggia<\/em>, <em>mannaggia all&#8217;America<\/em> , this last one a stock phrase from the post-war emigration era).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">One regional quirk: combinations like <em>mannaggia alla polenta<\/em> or <em>mannaggia alla marosca<\/em> are deliberately comic , pairing the Southern oath with a Northern food or a nonsense noun. The humor relies on the listener recognizing the formula and the absurdity of the object. As italian soft swearing goes, <em>mannaggia<\/em> is the safest emotional release: nationwide, multi-generational, and impossible to misuse if you keep the noun after it innocuous.<\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"gb-container gb-container-task-iss-1\"><div class=\"gb-inside-container\">\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83c\udfaf <strong>Mini-challenge:<\/strong> Pick the right minced oath for each situation.<\/p>\n<ol class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li>Your friend asks to borrow your car for the third time this week. Reply: ___ che ti presto la macchina!<\/li>\n<li>You&#8217;re at a family dinner with your nonna; you drop a fork. You say: ___!<\/li>\n<li>You missed the last train. To your spouse on the phone: ___, ho perso l&#8217;ultimo treno!<\/li>\n<li>A polite refusal at the office when a colleague asks something unreasonable: ma che ___ stai dicendo?<\/li>\n<li>Mild surprise at a friend&#8217;s new haircut: ___, hai cambiato look!<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n\n<details><summary><strong>\ud83d\udc49 See answers<\/strong><\/summary>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>1. <strong>Col cavolo<\/strong> che ti presto la macchina! (firm refusal)<\/p>\n<p>2. <strong>Mannaggia<\/strong>! or <strong>Accidenti<\/strong>! (any company, family-safe)<\/p>\n<p>3. <strong>Porca miseria<\/strong>, ho perso l&#8217;ultimo treno! (informal, with spouse OK)<\/p>\n<p>4. Ma che <strong>cavolo<\/strong> stai dicendo? (office-acceptable, not cacchio)<\/p>\n<p>5. <strong>Caspita<\/strong>! or <strong>Accidenti<\/strong>! (positive surprise, very mild)<\/p>\n<\/details>\n\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"accidenti\">Accidenti: the polite-society expletive<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Treccani lists <em>accidenti<\/em> among the &#8220;interiezioni secondarie&#8221; , the common nouns, verbs, and adjectives that Italians repurpose as exclamations to express a range of emotions from frustration to admiration. <em>Accidenti<\/em> is the polite-society workhorse of italian soft swearing, and arguably the single most useful entry in the whole italian soft swearing repertoire: never rude, never out of place, suitable for an office, a classroom, a doctor&#8217;s waiting room, a phone call with your bank manager. Treccani&#8217;s own example sentence is <em>Accidenti, ne sa una pi\u00f9 del diavolo<\/em> , &#8220;damn, he\/she knows more than the devil himself&#8221; , admiring, not insulting.<\/p>\n\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li>Accidenti, hai visto che traffico c&#8217;\u00e8 oggi sotto i portici? <em>Wow, did you see the traffic under the porticoes today?<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Accidenti che bel vestito! <em>Wow, what a nice dress!<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Accidenti a me che gli ho creduto. <em>Damn me for believing him.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Accidenti, ho lasciato l&#8217;ombrello a casa. <em>Damn, I left my umbrella at home.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Accidenti, sono gi\u00e0 le sette e mezza? <em>Goodness, is it really half past seven already?<\/em><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">What makes <em>accidenti<\/em> uniquely useful is its emotional ambivalence. It expresses surprise that can swing positive (<em>accidenti che bel cappotto<\/em>) or negative (<em>accidenti, \u00e8 gi\u00e0 tardi<\/em>) depending on context and tone. English speakers tend to underuse <em>accidenti<\/em> because it doesn&#8217;t map neatly onto a single English word , sometimes it&#8217;s &#8220;wow&#8221;, sometimes &#8220;damn&#8221;, sometimes &#8220;goodness&#8221;, sometimes &#8220;oh no&#8221;. The trick is to stop translating and start reaching for it any time you&#8217;d say one of those four English options in a polite setting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The construction <em>accidenti a + person<\/em> is the gentle scold: <em>accidenti a te<\/em>, <em>accidenti a lui<\/em>, <em>accidenti a noi<\/em>. It sounds like a real curse but carries almost no edge. A grandmother says <em>accidenti a te<\/em> to a child who hid her glasses. A wife says <em>accidenti a te<\/em> to a husband who promised to fix the lamp three weeks ago. The phrase has zero capacity to wound and a hundred percent capacity to express exasperated affection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"porca-miseria\">Porca miseria and the porca family<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Porca miseria<\/em> is the loud cousin in the italian soft swearing family. Within the full inventory of italian soft swearing, it sits one notch above the safe core. WordReference rates it at about 3 on a 10-point vulgarity scale: still mild, still safe in informal contexts, but starting to feel less polite than <em>accidenti<\/em> or <em>mannaggia<\/em>. The key insight: in <em>porca miseria<\/em>, <em>porca<\/em> is an adjective meaning &#8220;filthy&#8221; or &#8220;dirty&#8221;, not the noun &#8220;sow&#8221;. The whole expression literally reads &#8220;filthy misery&#8221;, which is roughly what English captures with &#8220;damned misery&#8221; or &#8220;bloody hell&#8221;.<\/p>\n\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li>Porca miseria, il tram \u00e8 in ritardo di venti minuti. <em>Bloody hell, the tram is twenty minutes late.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Porca miseria, ho rotto il bicchiere preferito di mia madre. <em>Damn it, I broke my mother&#8217;s favorite glass.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Porca miseria che caldo fa qui dentro! <em>God it&#8217;s hot in here!<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Ma porca miseria, possibile che non si trovi mai parcheggio? <em>For heaven&#8217;s sake, can we never find parking?<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Porca paletta, il computer si \u00e8 bloccato di nuovo. <em>Damn it, the computer froze again.<\/em> (Northern variant, comic)<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The <em>porca<\/em> family is large and its members are not interchangeable. The clean, family-friendly versions are <em>porca miseria<\/em>, <em>porca paletta<\/em>, <em>porca vacca<\/em>, and <em>porca zozza<\/em> (Roman, slangy but not vulgar). The danger zone starts when <em>porca<\/em> attaches to a sensitive noun , anything referring to religious figures, body parts, or moral concepts. Those combinations turn instantly into real swears and don&#8217;t belong in this guide. As a learner, memorize <em>porca miseria<\/em> as your safe default and avoid improvising beyond it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Register-wise, <em>porca miseria<\/em> is informal-only. It&#8217;s fine with friends, with family at the dinner table, with the plumber when something goes wrong, with a taxi driver stuck in traffic. It&#8217;s awkward in a job interview, in a formal email, with someone you&#8217;ve just met in a professional setting. If in doubt, swap it for <em>accidenti<\/em>, which works everywhere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"vaffambagno\">Vaffambagno and the vai-a-fare softeners<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The most famous Italian rude expression is the one starting with <em>vaffa-<\/em>. Italian soft swearing offers a jokey escape route here too: <em>vaffambagno<\/em>, literally &#8220;go take a bath&#8221;. The construction is a play on <em>vaffanculo<\/em>: same opening, same rhythm, but the destination is a harmless bathroom instead of an anatomical insult. The phrase signals you&#8217;re irritated, you want the other person off your case, but you&#8217;re also clearly winking , anyone listening understands you&#8217;ve chosen the comic register on purpose.<\/p>\n\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li>Vaffambagno, va&#8217;, che non ho voglia di sentirti adesso. <em>Oh go take a bath, I don&#8217;t want to deal with you right now.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Ma vai a farti un giro, dai. <em>Come on, go take a walk.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Vaffambagno tu e le tue scuse del cavolo. <em>Get lost, you and your stupid excuses.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Va&#8217; a quel paese, ma con calma, eh. <em>Go to hell, but politely, OK?<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Vai a farti una passeggiata, che ti rilassi. <em>Go take a walk, you need to relax.<\/em><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The pattern extends across a family of softened dismissals: <em>vai a farti un giro<\/em> (&#8220;go take a walk&#8221;), <em>vai a farti una passeggiata<\/em> (&#8220;go take a stroll&#8221;), <em>vai a quel paese<\/em> (&#8220;go to that village&#8221; , a euphemism for going to hell), <em>vai a vedere se ci sono<\/em> (&#8220;go see if I&#8217;m there&#8221; , a Roman classic meaning go away). All of these are dismissive without being insulting. The trick is the deliberate absurdity of the destination: a walk, a bath, an imaginary village. The hearer registers the irritation but can&#8217;t take genuine offense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Caveat: <em>vaffambagno<\/em> only works when the relationship is friendly enough that joking is allowed. With strangers, it sounds aggressive even with the soft destination. With friends, with a sibling, with a partner during a low-stakes squabble, it lands as comic. The line is fuzzy and depends on tone , slow it down, smile slightly, and the comic register comes through.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"caspita-perbacco\">Caspita, perbacco, accipicchia, cribbio: the vintage shelf<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The Italian language has a small museum of older minced oaths that survive in films, comics, and the speech of older generations, all sitting on the vintage shelf of italian soft swearing. They&#8217;re still understood , and occasionally used by younger speakers for comic effect , but they signal something specific. Reaching for <em>perbacco<\/em> or <em>caspita<\/em> in 2026 either means you&#8217;re over sixty or you&#8217;re being playful on purpose.<\/p>\n\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li>Caspita, com&#8217;\u00e8 cresciuto tuo figlio! <em>My, how your son has grown!<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Caspiterina, ma quanto costa quel cappotto? <em>Goodness, how much does that coat cost?<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Perbacco, questo Sangiovese \u00e8 proprio buono. <em>By Bacchus, this Sangiovese is really good.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Accipicchia, non me lo aspettavo proprio! <em>Goodness gracious, I really wasn&#8217;t expecting that!<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Cribbio, ma che ore sono? Devo correre. <em>Crikey, what time is it? I have to run.<\/em><\/li>\n<li>Urca, che bella sorpresa! <em>Wow, what a nice surprise!<\/em><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">A quick tour of the vintage shelf. <em>Perbacco<\/em> means &#8220;by Bacchus&#8221;, the Roman god of wine , a pagan dodge that lets the speaker swear without invoking the Christian God. <em>Caspita<\/em> and its diminutive <em>caspiterina<\/em> are mild expressions of surprise, harmless enough for any audience. <em>Accipicchia<\/em> is a pejorative-sounding form of <em>accidenti<\/em>, slightly more grandparental in feel. <em>Cribbio<\/em> is a euphemistic dodge for <em>Cristo<\/em>, designed to avoid the blasphemy taboo , you&#8217;ll hear it in Italian comic books from the 1960s and from speakers who learned Italian before the secular shift. <em>Urca<\/em> is an old expression of surprise of uncertain origin, still used regionally in the North.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Should you use these? In moderation, yes. Sprinkling a <em>caspita<\/em> or <em>perbacco<\/em> into your speech tells Italians you&#8217;ve absorbed the cultural texture, not just the textbook. Overusing them makes you sound like you&#8217;ve stepped out of a 1955 black-and-white film. One per conversation is plenty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"regional\">Regional flavors and generational shifts<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Italian soft swearing has a geography, and the map shifts every two hundred kilometers. <em>Mannaggia<\/em> started in Naples and Calabria and is now nationwide but still feels slightly Southern when used. <em>Cribbio<\/em> and <em>urca<\/em> have a Northern, slightly Lombard ring. <em>Caspita<\/em> and <em>perbacco<\/em> feel Tuscan-ish, partly because of their old-fashioned literary flavor. <em>Porca paletta<\/em> is a Northern softening of <em>porca miseria<\/em>. The Roman <em>li mortacci tua<\/em> sounds like a curse but, in actual Roman usage among friends, can land somewhere between mild and outright affectionate , though outsiders should avoid it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Generationally, the picture shifts faster than the regional one. Older Italians lean on <em>perbacco<\/em>, <em>caspita<\/em>, <em>cribbio<\/em>, and <em>accipicchia<\/em>. Middle generations default to <em>cavolo<\/em>, <em>accidenti<\/em>, <em>porca miseria<\/em>, <em>mannaggia<\/em>. Younger speakers, under thirty, often skip the minced oaths altogether and use the real thing in casual company , though they switch back to the softened forms with parents, teachers, employers, or anyone outside their immediate peer group. The bilingual code-switch is fluent and automatic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">For a learner, the practical takeaway is to stay in the middle band. <em>Cavolo<\/em>, <em>accidenti<\/em>, <em>mannaggia<\/em>, and <em>porca miseria<\/em> are the four words that will carry you across every region, every generation, every social context with no risk of misfiring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"when-not\">When NOT to use italian soft swearing<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Even the mildest minced oath has its no-go zones. The first is religious contexts: at a funeral, in a church, talking with someone you know to be observant, even <em>porca miseria<\/em> can land badly because <em>porca<\/em> carries echoes of the more vulgar combinations that include religious figures. Default to <em>accidenti<\/em> or silence in those settings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The second no-go zone for italian soft swearing is formal professional communication. A job interview, a letter to a notary, a meeting with a client you&#8217;ve never met, an email to a government office , none of these welcome italian soft swearing. The risk isn&#8217;t outrage but a small loss of seriousness. Italians register the minced oath as a signal of informal intimacy. Using it where intimacy hasn&#8217;t been established creates a small awkwardness that lingers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The third zone is with children whose parents you don&#8217;t know well. Italian parents are mostly relaxed about <em>cavolo<\/em> and <em>accidenti<\/em>, but some object to <em>cacchio<\/em> and <em>porca miseria<\/em> on principle. If you&#8217;re visiting a family for the first time, or babysitting nieces and nephews of an Italian friend, downshift to the absolute mildest , <em>caspita<\/em>, <em>accidenti<\/em>, <em>mannaggia<\/em> , and you&#8217;ll never offend anyone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The fourth zone is in public on a phone call. Italians notice when foreigners swear loudly in caf\u00e9s or on trains, and the embarrassment factor multiplies when the swearing is the wrong register for the situation. A loud <em>porca miseria<\/em> at a quiet bookshop reads as rude even though the word itself is mild. Match the volume of your minced oath to the volume of the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"mistakes\">Mistakes English speakers make<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">English speakers tend to make four predictable mistakes with italian soft swearing. None is fatal, but each one signals &#8220;learner&#8221; instantly. Knowing them in advance shortens the awkward-moment curve considerably.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"mistake-1\">Mistake 1: Treating cavolo and cacchio as identical<\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">They aren&#8217;t. <em>Cavolo<\/em> is family-friendly; <em>cacchio<\/em> carries a small residual edge. With your boss, the in-laws, or the priest, say <em>cavolo<\/em>. With your peers, friends, or partner, either works. The distinction is small but Italians notice it instantly. Saying <em>cacchio<\/em> in a board meeting won&#8217;t get you fired, but it will register as slightly out of place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"mistake-2\">Mistake 2: Improvising porca + new noun<\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Tempting, dangerous. <em>Porca miseria<\/em> is safe, <em>porca paletta<\/em> is safe (comic Northern), <em>porca vacca<\/em> is borderline. Inventing your own <em>porca + X<\/em> combinations is risky because the formula links closely to actual swear words, and the wrong noun produces real profanity. Stick to the established forms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"mistake-3\">Mistake 3: Overusing them<\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Italians do swear, but they don&#8217;t swear constantly. The cinematic stereotype of every sentence punctuated by some loud minced oath is exaggerated. Native speakers use one or two minced oaths per conversation, not one per sentence. Foreign learners often overdo it, hoping to sound more Italian, and end up sounding like cartoon characters. One per real frustration, none per casual statement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"mistake-4\">Mistake 4: Translating literally<\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Translating italian soft swearing word-for-word into English produces nonsense almost every time. <em>Vaffambagno<\/em> is not really &#8220;go take a bath&#8221; in any practical sense , it&#8217;s a comic dismissal. <em>Porca miseria<\/em> is not really &#8220;filthy misery&#8221; , it&#8217;s just &#8220;damn it&#8221;. <em>Mannaggia<\/em> doesn&#8217;t mean &#8220;may evil befall&#8221; to any living Italian , it&#8217;s just &#8220;darn&#8221;. Treat them as units of feeling, not as compositional translations. The literal meaning is a historical residue, not the active sense.<\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"gb-container gb-container-task-iss-2\"><div class=\"gb-inside-container\">\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83c\udfaf <strong>Mini-challenge:<\/strong> Spot the mistake and rewrite the sentence.<\/p>\n<ol class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li>In riunione di lavoro: \u00abCacchio, scusi, mi \u00e8 caduto il caff\u00e8 sulla camicia.\u00bb<\/li>\n<li>Al funerale di un parente: \u00abPorca miseria, che pioggia oggi.\u00bb<\/li>\n<li>A un cliente che hai appena conosciuto: \u00abVaffambagno, ma che traffico c&#8217;\u00e8 oggi!\u00bb<\/li>\n<li>A tua nonna ottantenne: \u00abMannaggia alla TV, non funziona pi\u00f9.\u00bb<\/li>\n<li>In una mail al notaio: \u00abAccidenti, devo posticipare l&#8217;appuntamento.\u00bb<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n\n<details><summary><strong>\ud83d\udc49 See answers<\/strong><\/summary>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>1. <em>Cacchio<\/em> \u00e8 troppo informale per una riunione: meglio <strong>cavolo<\/strong> o nulla (silenzio + scusa).<\/p>\n<p>2. Al funerale evita la famiglia <em>porca<\/em>: meglio <strong>accidenti<\/strong> o silenzio.<\/p>\n<p>3. Con un cliente nuovo, <em>vaffambagno<\/em> suona aggressivo: meglio <strong>accidenti, che traffico oggi!<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>4. <em>Mannaggia<\/em> con la nonna va benissimo, frase corretta (nessun fix necessario).<\/p>\n<p>5. In una mail formale evita le interiezioni: <strong>Mi dispiace, devo posticipare l&#8217;appuntamento.<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/details>\n\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"cheat-sheet\">Cheat sheet<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Use this cheat sheet to pick the right italian soft swearing word for the room. It summarizes everything we&#8217;ve covered about italian soft swearing in a single glance. The &#8220;Avoid&#8221; column flags the social context where each minced oath sounds off-key.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-table\"><table>\n<thead><tr><th>Word<\/th><th>Meaning<\/th><th>Register<\/th><th>Avoid in<\/th><\/tr><\/thead>\n<tbody>\n<tr><td>cavolo<\/td><td>damn, heck (mildest C-word)<\/td><td>family-safe<\/td><td>highly formal letters<\/td><\/tr>\n<tr><td>cacchio<\/td><td>damn (slightly edgier)<\/td><td>informal peers<\/td><td>office, in-laws, formal<\/td><\/tr>\n<tr><td>col cavolo<\/td><td>no way, like hell<\/td><td>informal, firm<\/td><td>polite refusals<\/td><\/tr>\n<tr><td>mannaggia<\/td><td>damn, darn<\/td><td>all audiences<\/td><td>nowhere , universally safe<\/td><\/tr>\n<tr><td>accidenti<\/td><td>wow \/ damn \/ goodness<\/td><td>all audiences<\/td><td>nowhere , universally safe<\/td><\/tr>\n<tr><td>porca miseria<\/td><td>bloody hell, damn it<\/td><td>informal only<\/td><td>formal, religious, kids<\/td><\/tr>\n<tr><td>vaffambagno<\/td><td>get lost (comic)<\/td><td>friends only<\/td><td>strangers, work, formal<\/td><\/tr>\n<tr><td>caspita<\/td><td>my, gosh (vintage)<\/td><td>old-fashioned, comic<\/td><td>nowhere , safe but dated<\/td><\/tr>\n<tr><td>perbacco<\/td><td>by Jove (vintage)<\/td><td>old-fashioned, comic<\/td><td>nowhere , safe but dated<\/td><\/tr>\n<tr><td>accipicchia<\/td><td>goodness (grandparental)<\/td><td>old-fashioned, comic<\/td><td>nowhere , safe but dated<\/td><\/tr>\n<tr><td>cribbio<\/td><td>crikey (1960s, dodge for Cristo)<\/td><td>vintage, comic<\/td><td>nowhere , safe but dated<\/td><\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"dialogue\">Dialogue at a pasticceria in Bologna<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The following dialogue shows italian soft swearing in everyday use, with seven different minced oaths in twelve lines of conversation. Beatrice and Tommaso meet at a small pasticceria under the porticoes of Bologna on a rainy Saturday morning. Notice how naturally they switch between minced oaths based on what they&#8217;re reacting to, and how the register stays firmly informal without ever sliding into rudeness.<\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"gb-container gb-container-dialog-iss\"><div class=\"gb-inside-container\">\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udc69\ud83c\udffc\u200d\ud83e\uddb0 <strong>Beatrice:<\/strong> Tommaso! Mannaggia, sono arrivata tutta bagnata. Hai visto che acquazzone?<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udc68\ud83c\udffd\u200d\ud83e\uddb1 <strong>Tommaso:<\/strong> Accidenti, lo immagino. Vieni, ti ho tenuto il posto vicino alla finestra. Hai gi\u00e0 ordinato?<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udc69\ud83c\udffc\u200d\ud83e\uddb0 <strong>Beatrice:<\/strong> Non ancora. Vorrei una cioccolata calda e una sfogliatella. Cavolo, non vedo l&#8217;ora, non ho fatto colazione.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udc68\ud83c\udffd\u200d\ud83e\uddb1 <strong>Tommaso:<\/strong> Porca miseria, mi sa che le sfogliatelle sono finite. Guarda il bancone, sono gi\u00e0 al ripiano dei tramezzini.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udc69\ud83c\udffc\u200d\ud83e\uddb0 <strong>Beatrice:<\/strong> Mannaggia! Va beh, prendo un cornetto alla crema, allora.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udc68\ud83c\udffd\u200d\ud83e\uddb1 <strong>Tommaso:<\/strong> Senti, prima che mi dimentichi: sabato prossimo c&#8217;\u00e8 la cena dal fratello di Margherita. Ti va?<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udc69\ud83c\udffc\u200d\ud83e\uddb0 <strong>Beatrice:<\/strong> Col cavolo, l&#8217;ultima volta ho dovuto sentire suo zio parlare di politica per tre ore. Mi spiace, ma no.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udc68\ud83c\udffd\u200d\ud83e\uddb1 <strong>Tommaso:<\/strong> Capisco, lo zio \u00e8 una croce. Per\u00f2 c&#8217;\u00e8 anche Federica, che non vedi da mesi.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udc69\ud83c\udffc\u200d\ud83e\uddb0 <strong>Beatrice:<\/strong> Caspita, viene anche lei? Allora forse vale la pena. Magari mi siedo lontana dallo zio.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udc68\ud83c\udffd\u200d\ud83e\uddb1 <strong>Tommaso:<\/strong> Ottima strategia. A proposito, accidenti che giacca! \u00c8 nuova?<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udc69\ud83c\udffc\u200d\ud83e\uddb0 <strong>Beatrice:<\/strong> Grazie! L&#8217;ho presa al mercato in piazza VIII Agosto. Trenta euro. Perbacco, era un&#8217;occasione.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83d\udc68\ud83c\udffd\u200d\ud83e\uddb1 <strong>Tommaso:<\/strong> Mannaggia, e io che ne ho appena spesi novanta per una camicia che non mi sta nemmeno bene. Vado a cambiarla domani.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\">What to notice in the dialogue<\/h3>\n\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li><strong>Mannaggia \/ accidenti<\/strong>: both work for everyday vexation; Beatrice and Tommaso switch between them organically.<\/li>\n<li><strong>Porca miseria<\/strong>: Tommaso uses it for a small disappointment (no more sfogliatelle) , informal but never harsh.<\/li>\n<li><strong>Col cavolo<\/strong>: Beatrice refuses the dinner invitation firmly but without offense, because the relationship allows it.<\/li>\n<li><strong>Caspita<\/strong>: marks surprise about Federica&#8217;s presence , slightly vintage but warm.<\/li>\n<li><strong>Accidenti che giacca!<\/strong>: positive use of <em>accidenti<\/em> , admiring, not negative.<\/li>\n<li><strong>Perbacco<\/strong>: vintage flavor, used for a happy surprise (the bargain) , adds playfulness.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"mini-challenge\">Mini-challenge<\/h2>\n\n\n<div class=\"gb-container gb-container-task-final-iss\"><div class=\"gb-inside-container\">\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\ud83c\udfaf <strong>Final challenge:<\/strong> Write three sentences in Italian, one for each of <em>cacchio<\/em>, <em>cavolo<\/em>, and <em>accidenti<\/em>, set in three different real-life situations of yours. The goal is to feel the register difference: which one fits with whom, and where would it sound off-key?<\/p>\n<ol class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li>One sentence with <em>cavolo<\/em> , family-safe context.<\/li>\n<li>One sentence with <em>cacchio<\/em> , peer-only context.<\/li>\n<li>One sentence with <em>accidenti<\/em> , polite-society context.<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n\n<details><summary><strong>\ud83d\udc49 Sample answers<\/strong><\/summary>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>1. <em>Cavolo, ho dimenticato di prendere il latte al supermercato.<\/em> (family-safe, says it at the dinner table)<\/p>\n<p>2. <em>Che cacchio \u00e8 successo al mio computer, non si accende pi\u00f9!<\/em> (peer-only, with a friend on the phone)<\/p>\n<p>3. <em>Accidenti, hai visto come piove? Pensavo che il temporale fosse gi\u00e0 passato.<\/em> (polite-society, with a colleague at the office)<\/p>\n<\/details>\n\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Mastering italian soft swearing comes from listening to native speakers and copying their reflexes more than from memorizing lists. The italian soft swearing instinct is built in the ear before it reaches the mouth. Watch an Italian film, listen to a podcast, sit at a caf\u00e9 in Bologna or Padova, and start collecting the minced oaths you hear in the wild. Notice who says what to whom, and at what volume. Italian soft swearing rewards the patient observer over the impatient memorizer: each new context teaches you one more nuance, and within six months of attentive listening, you&#8217;ll be reaching for <em>cavolo<\/em>, <em>accidenti<\/em>, and <em>mannaggia<\/em> with the same casual ease as a native speaker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"quiz\">Test your understanding<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Take the quiz below to test what you&#8217;ve learned about <em>italian soft swearing<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"gb-container gb-container-quiz-iss11747\"><div class=\"gb-inside-container\">\n\n(Quiz coming soon)\n\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"faq\">Frequently asked questions<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">These questions about italian soft swearing come from real conversations among Italian learners online and from common confusion about italian soft swearing in classroom settings. The classification of euphemisms is documented in the <a href=\"https:\/\/www.treccani.it\/vocabolario\/eufemismo\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Treccani entry on eufemismo<\/a>.<\/p>\n\n\n<div id=\"rank-math-faq\" class=\"rank-math-block\">\n<div class=\"rank-math-list \">\n<div id=\"faq-iss-q1\" class=\"rank-math-list-item\">\n<h3 class=\"rank-math-question \">Is cavolo really safe to use in front of older people and children?<\/h3>\n<div class=\"rank-math-answer \">\n\n<p>Yes. Cavolo is the safest C-word substitute in Italian and one of the most commonly used minced oaths overall. Italian children pick it up by age five from parents and grandparents who use it freely. Italian nonne say it at the dinner table without anyone batting an eye. The only context where cavolo feels slightly off is highly formal written communication , a legal letter, a contract, a job application , and even there it would register as casual rather than offensive. With strangers, in-laws, kids, and elderly relatives, cavolo is your safe default for italian soft swearing.<\/p>\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<div id=\"faq-iss-q2\" class=\"rank-math-list-item\">\n<h3 class=\"rank-math-question \">Are mannaggia and porca miseria regional expressions?<\/h3>\n<div class=\"rank-math-answer \">\n\n<p>They have regional roots but are now nationwide. Mannaggia originated in Southern Italy , Naples, Calabria , and came from the dialect contraction male n&#8217;aggia (&#8216;may evil befall&#8217;). It spread north through Italian cinema and migration in the twentieth century and is now used everywhere, though it still carries a faintly Southern flavor when heard. Porca miseria is more evenly Italian and doesn&#8217;t tag you to any specific region. Both are universal enough that learners can use them safely anywhere in the country without sounding regionally out of place.<\/p>\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<div id=\"faq-iss-q3\" class=\"rank-math-list-item\">\n<h3 class=\"rank-math-question \">What&#8217;s the actual difference between cavolo and cacchio?<\/h3>\n<div class=\"rank-math-answer \">\n\n<p>Both are euphemisms for the same vulgar C-word, but they sit at slightly different register positions. Cavolo literally means cabbage and is so neutral that it&#8217;s used with children, in school classrooms, and on family-rated television. Cacchio shares the same opening syllable as the real swear and retains a tiny residual edge , it feels slightly more &#8216;knowing&#8217;, slightly more adult. Italian children typically pick up cavolo around age five and cacchio around age ten. In professional or formal contexts, cavolo is safer; in casual peer conversation, both work interchangeably.<\/p>\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<div id=\"faq-iss-q4\" class=\"rank-math-list-item\">\n<h3 class=\"rank-math-question \">Can accidenti be used for positive surprise, not just negative reactions?<\/h3>\n<div class=\"rank-math-answer \">\n\n<p>Yes, and this is one of its most useful features. Accidenti is emotionally ambivalent: it expresses any kind of surprise, positive or negative. Accidenti che bel vestito means &#8216;wow, what a beautiful dress&#8217; , pure admiration. Accidenti, ho perso il treno means &#8216;damn, I missed the train&#8217; , frustration. The Treccani Italian language reference cites Accidenti, ne sa una pi\u00f9 del diavolo as a classic example: literally &#8216;damn, he\/she knows more than the devil&#8217;, used admiringly. Tone and context tell the listener which sense you mean. English speakers should stop translating accidenti as &#8216;damn&#8217; and start treating it as a multi-purpose marker of surprise.<\/p>\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<div id=\"faq-iss-q5\" class=\"rank-math-list-item\">\n<h3 class=\"rank-math-question \">Is porca miseria disrespectful in religious or conservative settings?<\/h3>\n<div class=\"rank-math-answer \">\n\n<p>It can be. The porca family of expressions softens originally more vulgar combinations, and the word porca itself carries echoes of those harder versions. In a religious setting , a funeral, a church, a conversation with an observant relative , even the mild porca miseria can land less gracefully than accidenti or mannaggia. The same applies to very conservative family environments. The safe move is to substitute accidenti, which carries no religious overtones and is universally accepted. Save porca miseria for genuinely informal contexts where everyone in the room is at ease with light venting.<\/p>\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<div id=\"faq-iss-q6\" class=\"rank-math-list-item\">\n<h3 class=\"rank-math-question \">Why do Italians use euphemisms instead of just real swear words?<\/h3>\n<div class=\"rank-math-answer \">\n\n<p>For the same reasons all languages develop euphemisms: moral, religious, and social. Treccani defines euphemism as a rhetorical figure that substitutes a usual expression with one of attenuated meaning, out of moral, religious, polite, or simply social respect. Italian minced oaths give speakers a way to release frustration, express surprise, and refuse firmly without crossing the social line into rudeness. The same Italian who says cavolo with a child will say the harder C-word with close friends in private. Italian soft swearing is a code-switching tool: it lets speakers tune the register to the room without losing emotional expressiveness. Learners who master the soft layer gain access to a huge amount of natural-sounding Italian speech.<\/p>\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\" id=\"related\">Related guides<\/h2>\n\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li><a href=\"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/italian-tricky-adverbs\/\">Italian Tricky Adverbs: Ancora, Appena, Cio\u00e8, Come, Ecco, Insomma<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/italian-andare-idioms\/\">Italian Andare Idioms: 18 Expressions Italians Use Daily<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/italian-clothing-idioms\/\">Italian Clothing Idioms: Nato con la Camicia and More<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/italian-la-idioms\/\">Italian La Idioms: Smetterla, Farcela, Cavarsela<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"https:\/\/www.treccani.it\/vocabolario\/eufemismo\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Treccani: Eufemismo (vocabolario)<\/a><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>\ud83d\udd0d In short. Italian soft swearing is what Italians reach for when they want to vent without actually swearing. Words like cavolo, cacchio, mannaggia, accidenti, porca miseria, caspita, perbacco, and vaffambagno are minced oaths: they sound like the real swears but are clean enough for office, family dinner, and most public situations. This B2 guide &#8230; <a title=\"Italian Soft Swearing: Cacchio, Cavolo, Mannaggia (B2)\" class=\"read-more\" href=\"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/italian-soft-swearing\/\" aria-label=\"Read more about Italian Soft Swearing: Cacchio, Cavolo, Mannaggia (B2)\">Read more \u226b<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":10020,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_bbp_topic_count":0,"_bbp_reply_count":0,"_bbp_total_topic_count":0,"_bbp_total_reply_count":0,"_bbp_voice_count":0,"_bbp_anonymous_reply_count":0,"_bbp_topic_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_reply_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_forum_subforum_count":0,"pmpro_default_level":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1866],"tags":[909,911,903,912,905,904,913,910,907,906,908],"class_list":["post-11747","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-b2","tag-accidenti","tag-bestemmia","tag-cacchio","tag-caspita","tag-cavolo","tag-che-cacchio-vuoi","tag-cribbio","tag-mannaggia","tag-non-ho-capito-un-cavolo","tag-porca-miseria","tag-vaffambagno","no-featured-image-padding","pmpro-has-access"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11747","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/10020"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=11747"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11747\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":61281,"href":"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11747\/revisions\/61281"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=11747"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=11747"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dante-learning.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=11747"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}