Kimchi, not for me

I have inherited a rather unfortunate trait from my father. It's the panic curse. And I don't mean the curse of panic. I mean the act (art?) of cursing while panicked. It's like selective Turret's, and I'm not making fun of the handicap. I'm being serious. Just now my cat and my legs got in a terrible tangle which I thought was going to end with serious pain for one or both of us. It seems like my brain should be directing all available energy towards keeping me upright, or at least in a safe falling position, while also keeping the safety of the cat somewhat in view. Such is not the case. In mid-stumble the most awful and yet morbidly creative string of profanity came out of my mouth that it shocked me. Once I landed safely, smacked the cat on his rather large retreating hind end, and sat down, I actually started to laugh. As a rule, I try not to curse. I will confess that a well-placed expletive can make me laugh till I cry, but I try to stay away from them. (It's one thing to curse at the animals when you work at a vet but when you're a teacher....yeah, entirely different.)

Anyway, my ankle is twisted and I have a potty mouth. That's pretty much all I had to share.