Did I mention the toe?
So, here goes ~
I went out last Tuesday night to play poker and whilst I was out Simon kicked the bedstead on the way to bed in the dark. Apparently much swearing took place at this time along with treatment with a bag of frozen peas and 2 paracetemol and then ... he went to sleep.
The next morning his foot did look balloonesque in proportion, much hobbling was taking place and I did attempt to look concerned * and sympathetic ** but failed miserably. Luckily he'd booked a couple of days off *** so spent Wednesday with his foot up on the sofa. BUT he insisted on going to Tesco on Wednesday evening do I assumed that things were getting back to normal.
He had to have the car on Thursday to deliver some bits and pieces to friends of my parents who were passing on their way back to France and as he was bitching and moaning I did the "OH FOR GOD'S SAKE, well if it's still painful you'd better go up to A & E, that way you'll know nothing's wrong and you'll feel better as it's probably all in your mind!"
Ooops! *waves of Jo's guilt washes over t'Internet* Sorry!! Would some chocolate cake make it better?
* Having been brought up by my mother I'm not good at concern ... she used to have trouble not laughing at us when we got hurt as kids.
** Having a recovering alcoholic father I'm used to the quote about sympathy coming between shit and syphilis in the dictionary and they're no use to us either!
*** Jealous as I'd just had a fortnight - teaching has to have some perks!