As an antidote to the last hand-wringing post:
There’s a wee Facebook Dr Who shared post out there that prompts you to find your Dr Who name (your current job), list your current companion (last person you texted), and say your catchphrase (your most-oft used phrase). Well, mine was really boring: I’d be The Knitter, with the bathroom tiler as my companion, a pair of knickers as my signature item of clothing, and my catchphrase would be ‘bollocks’. Well, it got me thinking…
I do swear a teensy bit too much. Last night, me and The Boss watched Iron Man 3 and I might have repeated the punchline of a viral photo (right) about it maybe 100 times or so. I do try to moderate my language with at least one minx around me at all times. Well, that’s the plan. The reality is that I get hot under the collar, I try to bottle it all back, but in a sleep-deprived rage it all comes bubbling out in a big Weedgie Tourettes fountain. I pretend it doesn’t happen very often. Then again, at the weekend me and The Boss attempted to ignore the sound of 3 year old Mini Minx mutter “Fussake! Fussake!” in a very passable imitation of a Glaswegian accent. Yesterday, Midi walked along the hall and stood smiling over Killer Cat. “Piss off, Daisy!” she greeted the cat pleasantly.
I might need to reign it in. Or start swearing in the same accent as The Boss.