I know it's hard to believe, but I am in bed and it is only four thirty in the afternoon. I have a hot Lavender filled boa strung around my neck and Missy beside me, snoozing her tiny head off. The pain killers I took about two hours ago have made me drowsy but I resist sleep. Hubby has gone to pick up the boys from school and so the house is dead quiet. In case you are wondering why I am in bed and knocking back pills like candy, let me say, that I had a small accident yesterday morning.
I got up early. Possibly six thirty or so because I worried that Lenny might have to go do his ''thing'' outside. Once I had a pot of coffee ready to bubble up on the stove, I put Lenny on his leash and as it was raining, I pulled on my wellington boots and we headed out. We rambled around for a bit, down to the fence and back and then up to a section of rockery where hubby had placed old railway sleepers to create a rustic border. I must have been half asleep still because without thinking I began to walk on the border and wham, my boots slid on the surface and I went flying down on my back into the shrubs and rocks. At first I lay there stunned and then cried out for help. Not a sign of life. I was practically crying as I struggled back into the house covered in wet leaves and bits of grass. I got some sympathy but as everyone was rushing to get ready to head off for the day, I assured them that I was fine,
- I must be made of lead, I laughed, I don't feel a thing.
Of course Mick the painter came then and I spent most of the day monitoring his progress or should I say lack of progress. By six o'clock last night I began to feel stiff and sore. By six am this morning I could barely raise my head up off the pillow and by noon I was sitting in the doctor's waiting room reading depressingly ancient magazines and wondering if I should casually mention that I know a good painter who might bring a little joy into the dull interior.
Waiting rooms are so heavy. One young woman in impossibly high heels read a magazine intently like it was giving her all the answers. An elderly lady looked positively frozen with fright. A man came in and picked up National Geographic, took off his coat, folded it and settled himself down like he was at home in his living room. Nobody talks in waiting rooms, its all blank stares and tapping of toes and pictures of beautiful people crumbling into wrinkles on tattered pages.
Doc told me I have whiplash. Whiplash!
-Please tell me I don't have to wear one of those big ugly collars.
-We don't use those anymore, he laughed. They were only for insurance cases, you know people going to court and...........he trailed off.
-Well, I suppose I can't sue the dog, I said, maybe the wellington boot company?
Doc made me promise not to do anything, not to drive, not to vacuum, not to lift, not to bend, not to DO ANYTHING. I begged him to put it in writing, he laughed again, what's up with this doc, I wondered. I mean his waiting room is full of serious individuals and he is Mr. Chirpy right down to his Burberry Scarf. I begged him to put his orders in writing because nobody will believe me when I say I am not to do anything because they saw me yesterday after the incident, gliding around like a professional ice skater, tripping over Mick in the hallway, making a (if I say so myself) super duper lamb curry, going for a three mile hike in the bog.
Just don't do anything, he repeated and wrote out a helluva perscription. I drove home slowly, I had a hard time looking left and right. I prayed that Mick would be gone when I got home and lo and behold he was. I must say, the hall looks magnificent, whatever the colour.