I can’t sit down.
It’s awful. I’ve had to creep about the house ‘gingerly’ all day.
- I feel all rusted up – just like the Tin Man before Dorothy oiled his joints. That’s the best way I can think of to describe what’s happened to me.
- I now realise I was far too hasty when I rejected the science behind padded cycling shorts. Never again will I dismiss the notion of cycling in what looks exactly like a giant nappy, as ridiculous. From now on, I will remember to do everything I can to ensure the triumph of comfort – even if at the expense of vanity.
‘Supportive’ emails from the Agent
The Agent seems to find the fact that I can’t sit down, funny. He burst out laughing when he saw me try to negotiate getting into the car this morning and then sent me several ‘supportive’ emails throughout the day, featuring products which he thought might “help”.
I don’t think this is tactful of him. It’s not a laughing matter. If any properly ‘supportive’ kind reader would care to point this out to the agent using the comment box below, I should be most grateful.
Supper standing up:
This evening I was forced to accept that, as I can’t sit down, I’d have to eat my supper standing up. It is very hard to be dignified during a crisis when one’s partner in life appears with a broom in one hand and a mop in the other, to which he has ‘helpfully’ attached a knife and fork with rubber bands.
I am having a sense of humour failure. Does this kind of thing ever happen to anyone else? Please comfort me if you can!