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It’s a trial

My lovely man and I are on dental programmes to sort out our gnashers.

He has been eating like a rabbit for some time, so is getting some back teeth put in. I’m unsure where he misplaced the originals.

I have long admired nice teeth, so am trying to get a set of my own.

I didn’t actually realize how much was wrong until I started on this journey. As it turns out, my gums need repair, my teeth need alignment, and only then can they make a start on the pretty stuff.

Apart from being unpleasant, everything takes an age. With long periods of healing in between stages.

The poor souls who drew the short straw to take me on as a patient, are simply marvelous.

They do suffer me, no doubt.

They have marked on my file ‘Not brave, and inclined to whinge. Very inclined’.

Rude, but probably accurate.

I have now set a deadline, because I have a wedding to attend (not mine you’ll be relieved to know), and would like to have teeth for it.

In the most recent discussions with my dear, long suffering dentist, I reminded him…

I’d like to be fully sedated for the next stage please.

So would I, he replied.

Is it possible to get a proxy I asked

I’m going to, he announced

Is this something I could get a surrogate for, I continued

Please do, he agreed

I think he’s going to call in sick.

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Surely not

Did you watch Ted Lasso? Fantastic series, we loved it.

You will, of course, remember Hannah Waddingham in it. She is the most fabulous.

Anyway… I came across an article where she was asked what keeps her so fabulous.

Of course the answer was buried within one of those clickbait things that makes you read and scroll for three days past 400 adverts.

I usually avoid anything that requires me to ‘read more on the link below!’, but hey, Hannah was about to divulge the fountain of youth.

And she says….(I won’t make you scroll further)… It’s lip liner.

Really? That’s what makes it possible to bounce a coin off her buttocks?

So… I got some and sure enough. Knocked ten years off.

And I swear my glutes are firmer.

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Gangsta land

We have nine bird feeders. Yes, nine. I’m not quite sure how this has happened, but it is the state of things. In a very small yard.

My lovely man diligently fills these feeders up, and he has to do it every second day, because clearly we are hosting every bird within a 100km radius.

We go through A LOT of wild bird seed. It’s delivered by Takealot (of course), by the truckload.

We also have a beloved little rat mouse, Monty, to consider.

Sadly, in the last month, we have found two dead birds in the yard.

They were not emaciated, to be sure, but they were dead.

At least I hope they were, because I dispose of the poor little things in a zip lock bag. With a little blessing of course, but still.

I try not think about it.

Although, I do wonder, if this is going to continue, if Takealot sell little bells I can put in to the zip lock bag, so they can alert us if they awake within their zip lock bag in a panic. Maybe a mobile phone with my number programmed in.

I digress…

Why, I asked my lovely man, are these birds perishing?

We both regarded Ginger Nutless Max cat with some suspicion… But he reminded us that ‘he’s a really nice guy’ and also… If he caught Monty or any bird, he would present it to me via my pillow.

They are fighting…. My Lovely Man solemnly advised me.

Who are fighting I enquired? The birds?

Yes, he said, they are fighting each other to the death over the food. It’s obvious.

Are you saying, I clarified, they are shanking each other over the bird food?

I think so, he said, it’s a dog eat dog world out there.

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Let’s just do it

My lovely man LOVES his ice cream. Every day, after his lunch, there is always, always room for a bowl of ice cream.

The only exception to this habit, is if he has a chocolate milkshake.. Which is, mostly ice cream.

On any number of occasions, he has smacked his lips, sighed with contentment and advised me that he could quite happily live on ice cream and beer.

We all need something to live for hey?

Anyway… I bought him a box of six ‘Big Deal Mint Crunch’ ice cream on a stick. Like Magnums I guess.

He didn’t notice them for a few days, and then I asked him if he’d tried them yet and what were they like.

Well, apparently 5 star. Happiness.

So I tried one, and yes, very nice.

Some time later he said… Are these big deal ice creams more expensive than ice cream in a tub, because I don’t mind, if it’s easier, if you only get those.

I think they are more expensive I advised.

Well, he said, let’s do the maths, but I suppose we’ll have to factor it in if you are going to eat them too. How many a week do you think you’ll have?

Darling, I announced, they are 5 times more expensive per ml of ice cream.

Oh, he said, that’s not too bad then is it?

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Just love the ditherers already

I was at the vet the other day with one of our fur babies.

If you are ever in need of a way to deplete your funds, get a fur baby and a caring vet who says things like ‘this is the expensive route, but probably necessary’.

Anyway… While I was sitting there waiting for the final bill and hoping the markets and my savings don’t plummet again because I need every cent to deal with the latest elderly pet challenge, I witnessed the behaviors of two completely different women.

The first was completely in charge. You know the type. The woman who wrestles the wheel from Jesus and mutters ‘Just let me do it’. Looking around, slightly impatient and mildly irritated that not everyone is as efficient and organized as she is. Her pet effectively treated and back in its little box she has a firm grip on. Get a move on, she’s got shit to do. And it’s important.

The second is a ditherer. She emerges from a room with her completely out of control pet who is desperate to exit the vicinity and is dragging her along the floor to the door.

She vaguely realizes she probably needs to do something before she can leave, but is not quite sure what it is.

And then… Kindness.

Mrs Efficient, puts the boxed cat on the chair, controls the hysterical dog, gently leads the lady to the reception… Tells her to go first, she can wait..

And that people, is how it should be. If you can help, help. Choose kindness. Made my day.

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Are you ready?

Does your lovely man have some pet frets? Mine does, bless him.

I have pet peeves, he has pet frets.

Top of mind, for him is AI.

Of all things.

Darling, he advised me, everything I read stresses that we need to be AI ready.

Are you AI ready he enquires of me.

I am not, I admit.

What is AI, he asks, I don’t feel I am in the least competent in it.

This is probably true as he refers to it, for starters, as A1.

You are retired, I reminded him, you don’t need to be AI competent, stop worrying about it.

Perhaps we should buy this book, he continued, or enroll on this six month course for a mere USD 2,000. It sounds critical.

That’s a hard no from me.

So, finally, I have come up with a cunning plan.

When you are competent with the TV remote, I tell him, I’ll teach you AI.

Every time he brings it up, we are going to have a TV Remote test. And then I’ll ask him to Google something.

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No, I can no longer move it, move it

I am sadly, living the era where a fair chunk of social conversation revolves around health issues.

Mobility in particular.

If your business is offering pain relief in joints, you must be in demand.

Back pain features a lot I have observed. Putting your back out seems to require less effort than one might think.

Many years ago, a girl I knew told a story that we can probably all relate to.

She had met a young man she quite fancied. They were at the very early stages of getting to know each other and were both young enough to still be living with their respective parents.

They had been to gym and were going to shower at his parents house, before they went out again.

Youth… That you actually have the energy for two outings. One of them gym.

So, she was in the shower, alone. And, despite being young and nubile, managed to put her back out while bending down.

So, she is in agony, immobile, and unfortunately in a bent peg position. With her head down by her knees and her naked arse in the air.

Did she call for help? No. She actually called for God to please end the world.

He did not oblige.

She realized that she would have to die in this position rather than face the humiliation of anyone finding her alive.

She also realized that she was unlikely to die before someone came to enquire why she was taking so long in the shower.

To add to her misery, the hot water ran out, so now she was being showered upon by the remaining cold water.

The only thing, she told me, that she could think of, was to try and turn her head and drown herself in the deluge.

I’d love to tell you that the relationship ended in marriage and three kids. It did not. I think she had to leave the country and change her name.

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Are you the a*hole?

I have a male Ginger cat. His name is Max. AKA Ginger Nutless.

He’s a big guy. I know this because everyone who sees him announces to me ‘that’s a big cat’.

The vet is a little more forthright and says ‘he’s fat, you need to cut his food’.

My Max does like his food. I seldom get to sleep in because he screams in my face a 5am reminder that he’s close to perishing.

I recently tried free feeding him and his fat little sister cat. This involves topping up a container which is supposed to drip feed and last for some time.

My Max fully embraced this new system and consistently ate a week’s supply in one sitting.

So, we are back to him screaming at me twice a day for his meals.

Whenever anyone meets him and gives him a wary look because of his impressive bulk and vocals (he likes to get things off his chest, my Max), I reassure them that he’s ‘such a nice guy’.

Nevertheless, intermittently I am at the vet with him, being lectured on his weight, because he has a wound that needs to be attended to.

He’s not a fighter I explain, he’s really such a nice guy, I suspect he gets injured trying to break up fights.

Recently a visitor alerted me to a cat fight happening across the road.

It won’t be my Max I said with confidence, unless he’s acting as mediator, he’s such a nice guy.

It was my Max, in the other’s yard, definitely instigating and giving the other cat hell. In the other’s home.

It’s possible my lovely Max is the bully, not the bullied.

Children. A constant disappointment really.

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I’ll give you something to talk about

I’m a slippers and gown type of girl. It’s my favourite outfit really. I have, on a few occasions, noticed that I’m out, but still have my slippers on.

This means that, quite regularly, I have to throw my slippers in the wash. I’m quite good at hurling shoes into the washing machine. I have a friend who puts her trainers in the dishwasher. Also acceptable.

My lovely man is often in charge of emptying the washing machine and either hanging up the relevant, or putting it in the dryer. Shoes, for various reasons, are not for the dryer.

The last slipper load, somehow, slipped (did you see what I did there?) past his vigilance and some hours later I was presented with a much smaller version of my very adored sheepskin Uggs. They were dry and lovely and warm. And very little.

Luckily your feet are small he announced, these will be fine.

They are not fine, they are now baby slippers. Toddler size at best.

Well, he said, I’m waiting to read about this online, at least I give you good material.

Gotta love him. The knob.

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If it’s not too much to ask

Sunday lunch was lentils.

Because that’s how my lovely man likes it. He was very excited to have his special lentil dish on the menu.

I had a small bowl and got the side eye. How long is it going to last if other people are eating it I could see him thinking. Can’t you just have a biscuit?

He’s like that with his chocolate cake too. Not everything is to be shared.

A deep sigh of contentment on completion of his meal. Courtesy of his sister.

I think, he pondered, we could try and make this once a month.

It’s the only way I can see myself coping he ended with finality.

The only way…