, , , , , , , ,

Dear Diary – I got shot today. I knew it was probably going to happen.

I showed up at the rheumatologist’s office full of pepto bismol and sweating through my t-shirt. I don’t think the doctor quite believed me when I said I’m in bad shape, until he asked me to raise my arms…his eyebrows went up and he grimaced and shook his head before commenting, “nope, definitely going to do the cortisone shot”.

I was prepared for “the worst”. I had envisioned a 6″ needle being forcibly stabbed into my shoulder, followed by searing pain right before I lost consciousness. Instead, it was just a small prick. As he went to sit down to print my prescription, I said “that wasn’t so bad”. Famous last words! No sooner had the words left my mouth, that my body realized the violation to which it had just been subjected, and it screamed at me. I bit my lip under my mask and with curled my toes, tip-toed to the pharmacy next door. I had to replace the shot for the next victim patient.

I texted Hubby from the car: “ow!” Both Hubby & Little Guy met me at the door at home. They cooked dinner and brought me my plate of spaghetti. They even grated cheese on it. The next day, before my “24 hours of rest” ended, Little Guy suggested I leave the dishes…for Hubby. I washed them anyway, but not with my usual vigour.

Now I have to book physiotherapy appointments.

You know you’re getting old when..your address book has mostly names that start with Dr.

Dear Diary – I was excited this week because a current contestant on the Great Canadian Baking Show liked my scone photo from Monday’s post on my Instagram account! He isn’t a celebrity, but it’s the closest I may ever get!

Apparently the CBC is accepting applications for Season 5 of the show. I told Hubby, just to see the look of panicked horror on his face. Even I know my limitations!

Dear Diary – It was Christmas grocery week again, and everything seemed to come together so smoothly. It shoud have been a red flag. When the guy came with my substantially loaded cart, he apologized because they lost one of my bins, and I had already been charged for everything. I was going to have to call and ask for a reimbursement. My stomach immediately twisted in a knot because I knew this was going to be a hassle. Then I had a moment of illumination, and asked nicely, “since you know what’s missing, might there be someone free who could grab those 4 items now”? He supposed he could, if I was willing to wait.

I was willing to wait.

Eggplant paremesiana, a new experiment for me, doesn’t work so well with no eggplant!

Dear Diary – Last weekend, Hubby was worried he was coming down with Covid. He only had to wait 24 hours for a testing appointment, and in that time he gave us all a wide berth. I started to feel like I was the one with the plague, and with such close contact in our small house, if he had it, it was toooooo late! Sunday morning he came home relieved that he had not been lobotomized during the testing. On Monday afternoon, I was in the process of calling to reschedule an appointment, when he hollered up the stairs, “I don’t have the plauge”!

On the plus side, he can now taste his coffee.

That might seem like an odd comment, but the man has virtually no sense of taste or smell. I believe him after, several years ago, he stuck his nose next to Little Guy’s horrifically smelly bum (I could smell it on another level of the house) and inhaled without passing out.

Dear Diary – Why are dermatology offices always pristine, minimalist, and white? Soft flute music was piped throughout. I felt like I was in a spa (or what spas look like on t.v. having only been to one once in my life). I could certainly have used a relaxing massage…and maybe a pedicure!

Dear Diary – Hubby farted and I asked him, “what is that? B-flat?”. I was close. He farted a perfect middle C.

We already know I scream in A.

Talk nerdy to me!

Dear Diary – It’s nearly time to clean the oven again. Little Guy commented last night that he thought he smelled smoke. The oven had just been on because I had just baked another batch of pumpkin chai scones, so I told him it wasn’t smoke, but the incense of many burnt offerings.

Today me will live in the moment, unless it’s unpleasant, in which case me eat a cookie.

Cookie Monster