“Come on darling. You know you’re not allowed in there,” Mum says. The fluffy monster has climbed inside the freezer and is curled up on a shelf, gazing out at us.
Mum takes some felafel out and waits for the cat to step out. He doesn’t. Eventually he puts one front paw down on the floor and then another and, shaking the ice crystals from his tail, stalks out of the room.
My drain is still in. It’s been almost a week now. It’s probably going to be in forever and I’ll have to carry it on dates and it will have its own chair in restaurants and its own theatre seat.
A family friend’s son just got engaged recently who was producing poo in a bag outside his body. That has to be worse than a drain, and his bride-to-be wasn’t deterred from accepting his proposal. So must stop worrying about it and if have to attend the party tomorrow with the drain still in – well, will cope with it.
Message from the Twitcher this morning that he’s spending all weekend working. Must think of an exciting reply…
Scars, Tears and Training Bras 