As we have done in the past I’ll be leaving the Funny Boy in charge of the updates whilst I undergo surgery. He is under strict orders to not return my mobile phone to me until the morphine has fully left my system. Those who received texts from me in the immediate days post-surgery will be aware that I was not fully compus mentis. I think the worst was sending over 100 consecutive messages in a WhatsApp group at 2am. I was busy telling my friends how hungry I was, begging for pictures of food porn and sending a screenshot of a Wagamamas order worth over £50!! Me on morphine is not a good combination.
I am squeezing in this last-minute blog as I fear the Funny Boy will take advantage and share a particular story about me that occurred recently. Before I begin, I would like to add the caveat that one of the more prominent side effects of my anti-seizure medication is a risk of becoming aggressive, agitated or angry. Or as my surgeon describes it: Keppra Rage! I am sure the Funny Boy will vouch for me when I say that 9 times out of 10 I am pretty laid back and excluding the odd occasions I don’t have a grumpy personality.
In October, the Funny Boy whisked me away to the very pretty city of Durham. On arriving at the hotel we went straight to the pool before returning to our rooms to prepare for dinner. As we change our clothes the Funny Boy walks out of the bathroom and looks at me with a perplexed expression.
’Oh no!’ He cries ‘Look at my pants!’
I look over to see the Funny Boy still wearing his pants but with his Crown Jewels hanging neatly below his crotch.
‘I can’t believe it’ he continues ‘How has that happened? I haven’t even worn them – I’ll have to return them! They are my nice new ones you bought me!’
’What?’ I quickly reply ‘No, they can’t be!’ While he is trying to understand how his nice new pants have been so ill-fated, I silently pluck up the coverage to tell the Funny Boy the truth…
A few months ago, I decided to invest in an electric toothbrush. To which the Funny Boy made a number of snide comments basically stating how he thought the amount paid was a waste of money. His attitude changed when he visited our dentist – who knew of my recent purchase and suggested he just get a separate toothbrush head and benefit from it’s many features. Being a good wife, I overlooked is sarcastic comments and kindly obliged, providing he ensured it was always clean and kept fully charged.
Allow me to set the scene: It’s approx 5 weeks post surgery. I am experiencing weakness and reduced sensation on the left side of my body, the fatigue is ongoing and the Funny Boy has returned to work allow me to fend for myself. I wake up one morning and head straight to brush my teeth.
I walk into the en suite to find the Funny Boy has already forgotten the rules; he has failed to return my head to the toothbrush and the battery is flat. This may not sound like a huge deal but for someone who has lost the dexterity in one of my hands the simple task of changing the heads was turned into a major struggle. After a small wrestle I successfully removed the brush head. As it landed on the bathroom floor. I was in two minds to leave it there ‘that’ll teach him’ I thought’, but resisted the urge and set about putting the brush on charge for 5 minutes so I have enough ‘juice’ to finish my task. Feeling ever so frustrated I turn my focus on the toothpaste and my mood doesn’t improve when I see the Funny Boy has squeezed from the middle making it impossible to get the paste at the very bottom of the tube. Another battle between my reduced dexterity and the half empty toothpaste tube and I finally finished brushing my teeth. It is not even 8am and my anger level was sitting at about 5/10.
I get ready to take Parsnip down for her morning rituals (she sleeps in our bed – feel free to judge but I actually sleep better with my side) Anyway, as I walk down the stairs I walk past – not one, but two piles of the Funny Boy’s ‘stuff’ which he has awkwardly placed in the hall way and the middle of the stairway. Both of which he promised to put away the night before. The first pile is his clean clothes he has prepared for a weekend away to Durham. The second is a pile of card, paper cuttings, pritt-stick and scissors – leftovers from his latest craft project. Each pile is so large that tidying them away requires several journeys up and down the stairs. My anger level begins to rise. I do a number of legs to return the bits and pieces to their rightful place but in doing so I drop some of the pieces. As I pick up the final bits, stomp up the stairs and begin to curse the Funny Boy I realise what I am holding in my hands. In my left is a pair of his boxer shorts and in my right is a pair of scissors.
I would like to say I debated what I did next but truth be told the rising anger took over and in a moment of rage I decided to cut the Funny Boy’s Boxers. With one simple cut I slashed the gusset and in an instant my rage was gone. ‘that’ll really teach him’ I thought once again. I’d like to say I thought about my actions and instantly regretted them but that would be a lie. I returned his pants to the rightful place, set about my day in a drastically improved mood and didn’t think any more on it.
Back to Durham
As I tell the Funny Boy what happened, rather than getting the rage himself he simply begins laughing, before a slightly worried expression comes across his face. He then recounts his changing room experience. He had dressed himself in the cramped conditions of the changing room while another patron sat on the bench Funny Boy crotch height, putting on his shoes.
The Funny Boy had a vague recollection of getting a strange look, as he unknowingly pulled up his Anne Summers inspired crotch-less boxer shorts, before drying his hair and continuing to get dressed.
What must this chap have been thinking?! That the Funny Boy was some sort of sex crazed maniac loitering in hotel changing rooms, for an unsuspecting person to walk in and the opportunity to show off his ventilated undergarments?!
Recalling this is when The Funny Boy really started to laugh. We spent the next 2 days in Durham wondering if we might be ejected from the hotel for his efforts at Dogging, but thankfully it didn’t happen.
In the end the Funny Boy was just grateful that the scissors hadn’t been applied to his pants, while he had them on.
I should be back in a week but for now, wish me luck for tomorrow and as always #FUCANCER!