Toe reading – only in America

No lie-in this morning. The PAM’s other half was an early riser and once he was off to work, she had to wake the noisy teenager for college.  Unusually she only had to call him once.

This salty bath business is no joke.  Five minutes.  That’s what the pod person said.  Five minutes soaking in a warm salty bath.  That does not mean at least fifteen minutes whilst you eat your breakfast, get bored by the news and flick through a million channels hoping for some distraction.

Hurrumph!  At least she hasn’t wrapped me up in the boring white dressing yet.  Upstairs and further distracted by Twitter; my moments of naked freedom are limited.  I had hoped that she might get engrossed in http://www.beatoereader.com/ but the instant she spotted the phrase ‘Your internal-self is displayed in your left foot‘ I knew I was onto a loser (I live on the left foot).

The paragraph continues:

‘The position and shape of the toes say a lot about their owner and the energy in one’s body

By observing someone’s toes, you will know a great deal about their past and the experiences they have lived through

Toes reveal how a person copes with their feelings, as well as their thoughts’

Doubt if there will be any toe-gazing in this house today.  Still at least we are all in the warm and provided she leaves that tingly electrical machine alone, a nice doze in front of ‘Homes Under the Hammer’ should be in order.

Forget the peace and quiet – the thundering one has returned from college and is making his presence felt.  The boy who hoards cutlery and crockery in his room for days and is too tired to wash up his dirty pans, is complaining about his mother’s porridge bowl which has been left to soak for half an hour in the sink and the fact that his father buys orange juice with bits in.  I despair.  Can a toe despair? Well I am anyway.

Today I am wearing a very minimalist dressing and the tingly machine has stayed in the box. Things are looking up (they usually are when you are in my position).

Aaaaaaand we’re back in the room.

Today has been warm and indoorsy.

As predicted HutH had a soporific effect and the PAM sat up with a start when the TV segued into the more abrasive ‘Watchdog Daily’ or some such whingeing programme that has  migrated to daytime TV in order to trawl the sick and the elderly (talking about the long-term unemployed is outside my remit and I deliberately start to twinge if she watches ‘Jeremy Kyle’).

So did she accomplish all the things that she wrote down on her to-do list?

Nah.

She did the washing and the drying, then she started reading up about Lanzarote.  We are going there for some winter sun and this toe will be sorely displeased if it doesn’t get to dip itself into the heated swimming pool and lap up a few rays.

We didn’t leave the house ALL day – unless you count hobbling round the back to the bins to pick up a package that the lazy postman put there rather than hang on a few seconds whilst we limped to answer the door.

Guess what was in the parcel – yes – the Purple Ronnie willie warmer! I have to hand it to her, the PAM is a dab hand with the needle and thread.  In no time at all  it was customised to fit  and not fall off when walking.  It is amazing what you an do with a piece of elastic.  Not sure if she has anything that is turquoise with orange stripes in her wardrobe though and she does SO like to accessorise.  I almost wanted to go out to see if it will keep me warm – not that much though.

I have to admit that I absolutely love not having to go to that horrible draughty grey building every day.  The combination of carpet and fluffy-boot slippers kicked up a force field of static that made me even more tingly than the electric machine does.   It was either too cold or too hot and there was far too much standing around and walking for my liking.

That period of my life must count for the most miserable ever – including the occasion when the ham-fisted general surgeon decided that as the PAM wouldn’t let him get his hands on her gall bladder, then he’d have a good hack at my ingrown toenail instead.  He kept stabbing injections into me until in the end the PAM just told him to get on with it.  He put the wrong dressing on me and I had to suffer the indignity of sitting in the the treatment room at the surgery in a bucket of warm water for HOURS whilst the nurse tried to soak the dressing off.

It is SO much nicer being at home – and there is much less risk of any half-witted buffoons treading on me. Yes! It still hurts even if it was an accident and you apologised.  Still if an optician can’t see me – how can I expect anyone else to? Perhaps, instead of knitted willie warmers I should have a foam rubber bumper about a foot wide around me.  Not sure how the PAM would cope with that though – back to the drawing board.

Tried to get some proper kip this afternoon when the tired other half returned but although the body (especially me) was willing – her poor over-taxed brain would not switch off so I was dragged from a warm soft bed and propped up on a footrest whilst she got rid of her angst through the medium of word.

She really needs to learn how to chill out a bit more.

The evening was uneventfully quiet; a takeaway was ordered and despite minor interruptions from the noisy one, I was able to sit on the big cushion and be pampered for hours.  This is the way I deserve to be treated after all the pain and distress I have suffered.

She’s winding up for bedtime now and undoubtedly feels more than a little bit peeved that I’m getting more hits on the blog than she does.

Talent always rises to the surface darling – even when you spend your days avoiding puddles and piles of  dog poo.

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