Long time blog readers will know my propensity for being something of a 'potty mouth'. Be warned, those of you who are parents: this is what happens when you ban your child from swearing in the home when they're in their teenage years. It backfires. Big time.
I was bathing Beth this evening, and multitasking with emptying the bathroom bin. Yes, that's me: Domestic Goddess of the Year 2013. Almost definitely. As I attempted to turn the bin out into the binbag (an impossible task if ever there was one), the top layer of 'crud' (obtained from my horrific attempts to clear the chaos from under the children's beds... like 'Nam, only with more scenes of destruction) which was piled on the top (as ever, I believe the internal capacity of a bin is less of a set metric and more of a 'guideline') fell out of the top of the bin and onto the floor. Going everywhere. (Enough brackets for you there?)
Incredibly, I actually took the time to remember I had a small, impressionable (who am I trying to kid: it's her leading me astray, the crazy arsed minx that she is) 2.5 year old in the bath, and did my best to deal with the situation calmly. In my most controlled, most drama-school-esque voice, I attempted to eschew all profanities and instead channel my mother.
"Oh bother. Bother, bother, bother, bother, FUCKING bother."