What a bloody wanker!

If someone would have foreseen the day someone yelling, “Blimey Tosser!, watch where you’re going” would be the day I felt accepted as a local, I wouldn’t have believed it.  The oddest smile flushed my face as I peddled even faster.

​First, when a British person yells profanity, they do so in such a sing song way that it really is hard to be insulted.  They use many more flowery words.  ​ I can’t properly react to their insult because they are long gone by the time I’ve processed their intent.  They would have every right to look at me and add, while shaking their head, “Bollocks!”

​I have no intention on taking any responsibility as to why I was such a wanker.  I am blaming it entirely on my children (that are not here to defend themselves).  You see, they sent me a very cool puzzle.  Part of this puzzle includes a difficult water section that has slowed my progress to a crawl.  So obviously I was working on the puzzle, when I looked down and saw that I was going to be late volunteering, I immediately popped up and ran out of the house.  It was too far to run there, but I could jump on a rental city bike and pedal my heart out.  Cack!  I was such a blimey twat forgetting the whole directional thing here!!
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All’s well that ends well.  I am now a local and I was not late! Puzzle is still not completed.