Don't Put This On Your Blog...

Accountant has adopted a new relax-at-home look. He used to change into a polo shirt and clashing shorts combo after work. He now just goes straight for his dressing gown and a pair of socks and lies on the sofa with his lilly white legs poking out, farting and reading tax magazines.

It's not his distinct lack of style that bothers me, or even the proximity of his bottom to my oxygen supply, but the fact that I normally require some sort of sugar based treat at this time of night and used to be able to rely on good old fashioned blackmail and the fact Accountant was dressed, albeit badly, to motivate him to pop out and get me a little something. Now he’s dressed like my grandmother, I’m struggling to get the same results.

I went to the hospital this morning for some post-Chickie prodding. I’ve endured lots of this lately but even I, someone who doesn’t embarrass easily, struggle to articulate the indignities I’ve suffered since giving birth.

It may seem that I’m not much of a hypochondriac after minimal mention of anything disease related in my blog but I’ve just been easing you in gently. In most respects I consider myself a stable, rational individual. Not so, where anything medical is concerned.

I have learnt to turn off any health documentaries immediatley before I get any ideas, to turn the page when I see medical articles entitled “The Silent Killer” or the like, to extract myself from conversations about illness and to, under no circumstances, type any symptoms into Google. I am much better now than when I was a teenager when I spent most of my time calculating how long I was likely to live based on my latest discovery.

I once got bitten on my right butt cheek whilst swimming on holiday, I don’t know by what but a nasty rash appeared. I carried out a self-diagnosis and decided a week would be sufficient to monitor any reaction and, if I was still alive after that, I was likely to survive. Exactly one week later, I didn’t feel well and was convinced my time was up and that my parents should have taken my pleas to have an antidote administered at the scene a lot more seriously. The doctor was called and tended to me in my sick bed. There was nothing wrong with me that had anything to do with my butt bite.

Another time, when undressing for my morning shower, I discovered my torso had turned blue. The shock and trauma sent me straight to the toilet where I cried hysterically, sure that this would be the last time I cried hysterically on the toilet. There was no one home to calm me down so I just ran from room to room, praying and assessing my blueness in every mirror in the house. I don’t know at what point it occurred to me I had slept in a blue jumper the night before. I put the Bible down and had my shower. I could go on…

On a non-nutter note, Vicky and Lola came round to play today. That's Lola! Vicky did something very amusing which she immediately followed with, "DON'T PUT THIS ON YOUR BLOG". This seems to be the latest craze phrase amongst my scaredy cat friends. Wimps.