Tuesday, August 9, 2011

A day of small horrors

We crawled home at an abominably late hour, and just as one peeled off the last item of clothing one remembered that there was a specialist appointment at an ungodly hour. What sort of a cretin makes an 8.30am appointment? Oh that's right, one who thought it would be good to get it out of the way. Early; so it left the day free.

So feeling exceptionally sleep deprived one awoke a whole four and a half hours later to shower and front up at the specialists. Sitting in the car waiting we vowed to return home, ignore all chores other than the Census, and go back to bed. At the appointed time we front up, meet the charming surgeon... wearing the spiffiest high heeled boots... who examines the foot and announces the neuoroma is about the size of her first thumb joint. She is surprised that it hasn't been giving more grief.

She also chirpily informs us that the hospital waiting list is even grimmer than we had been lead to believe. You wait two years for the appointment... the actual surgery is another year. After giving us the cost to do it privately we look at each other and nod in union. The foot is booked in for the 6th of September. On the bright side she does it from the top, rather than the bottom. It means one will be ambulatory virtually the next day and back at work in two weeks, unlike the six weeks we were originally told... that should make our employers happy.

We scuttled home with visions of bed, only to be greeted by His mother and the grandchild. Brimming with obscene levels of chirpiness, bouncing blonde curls and big blue eyes she informs us it is her birthday and asks will we come to the party? We look at the little monster and with a deep loathing accept her invitation. Crawling away feeling like the condemned one of us removes clothing, gets into something more comfortable... yes it might have been purple... and He starts the Census. It takes forever and goldilocks is less than thrilled by the lack of attention being bestowed on her. He sics her in one's direction to distract her. Perfidy thy name is Owner.

Fortunately one managed to micro sleep between toy selections that were brought up for one's amusement. When she appeared on the horizon bearing a fishing game one played possum like a pro. Honesty there are limits and one called red... it seems to work better with her than Him. Finally they left and we fell into a short sleep... before being called to lunch.

We fronted up to His mothers, trying to look thrilled to be directed to our seats by our small sadist, who organised us with all the efficiency of a drill sergeant. She even made us don pink fairy hats... that were one size too small. Looking at the love of one's life with a smile, one threatened to take Him out in his sleep if he took so much as one happy snap. Bad, bad slave J

Giving the birthday girl her present He asks what colour dress is Barbie wearing? Purple is the solemn pronouncement. It's her favourite colour He says, smiling in one's direction. Mine too goldilocks says, beaming like she has found a kindred spirit. No it's not says His mother looking perplexed. Her favourite colour is red. Bless that woman

Finally we are released from the hell that is other people to crawl up the hallway to bed. Firmly locking the door in our wake... not that it did much good... there was tapping on the door just as we fell into bed. Seems they needed their computer tech to once again explain the vagaries of Skype. Just as one was drifting off in blissful sleep, He came back, bounced on the bed, and hauled up the covers to put his cold hands all over one's warm soft breasts. It got ugly there for a short while. Again, bad, bad slave L

You know what this means He says, with a smile in his voice. No one says, desperately trying to go back to sleep. No more jeans. You will soon be back in heels and skirts, and lifting them up to show me... maybe with one of those large MEO rings in. That will look exceptionally nice!
Oh goody, goody gumdrops L

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