The other day, I had an accident. Or more accurately, the floor decided to attack me. This wouldn’t have been too bad if the bath hadn’t decided to get in on the act too.
Five hours at A&E later, I’m home, lying on the couch with two broken ribs and discovering the wonderful world of things that are going to be painful for the next few weeks.
The thing is, you don’t realise the impact this sort of thing will have on your everyday life until it happens.
The simplest of things like breathing are suddenly the hardest things in the world to do.
So, I now find myself with a golden opportunity to milk this for all its worth and get unlimited amounts of sympathy… Or so I thought.
Unfortunately, it was more like my family laughing and taking the mick out if me as they acted out the incident in great detail.
I’d be annoyed but, I’d do exactly the same thing in their situation.
This has led to one new occurrence though.
My fella is learning how to cook!
(I know, scary, isn’t it)
With me unable to lift anything heavier than a box of tissues, he has taken on the role of chef (with great gusto.)
I am yet undecided if this is a bad or good thing. Either he will take to it like a duck to water or he will fail with honors.
I now sit in waiting, wondering if yet another trip to A&E is in my near future.