Don’t hate me for this but my hubby bought me a special “gift.”
He bought if for me after he tried to kill me one night in bed by handing me a hot water bottle that ruptured.
Thank God I was wearing a thermo heat control wet suit at the time . . . with goggles
Don’t ask questions, this is not a blog post about that kind of thing. We were very resilient and versatile, we just got changed into our doctor and nurse outfits, grabbed the aloe vera, smeared it everywhere and carried on … with the stuff we are not going to discuss . . . after I stopped screaming from the pain.
The next morning he offered to pick me up a new hot water bottle.
I thought about giving him instructions but then I thought, come on, he has been an adult for a long long time, he can do this. The hot water bottle section is one space on the pharmacists shelf. The choice is usually red or some other colour and who cares what colour it is.
Of course I have not been scanning hot water bottle magazines for some time. I am not up on the latest trends and clearly have not looked at them online as evidenced by the complete lack of hot water bottle ads popping up on every single site I go to. If you even THINK about looking at something online, Facebook and the like read your brainwaves and start posting ads. It is one of the main reasons I frequently sit at my computer with my head tinfoiled.
I let him go without any further instructions. I don’t know what I was thinking.
He came home with this.
But wait … if that is not beautiful enough … they added a pink bow on the other side.
I presume it is either so we will know this is a girl hot water bottle or it is just yet another whatever trying to cash in on the pink ribbon craze. That is where the company is struggling to sell their products and someone suggests they slap a pink ribbon on it to make people think Beano’s Primo Dog Food is involved with women’s breast cancer in some meaningful way.
I call it my “road kill.”
I now sleep with road kill.
I took it out in the yard one day and first I had to fight off the crows who were trying to fly off with it to feed their babies, and then I had to beat off a baby Joey who kept calling it “mama” and was trying to climb into it.
The worst part is that one of the neighbours lost a cat recently. They think some animal killed it and no, it was not me. I was walking out in the yard, holding the hot water bottle against my abdomen so I could pretend to walk. I love how they tell you that the pain will get better if you walk more when walking . . . makes you hurt more. I was trying to trick my body into the idea that somebody cared and was listening to its screams for attention. Only I wasn’t listening to it scream. I had drugs that drown out body screaming.
In my defence I would like to point out it was my yard and I did not have any neon signs up announcing I was about to do some kind of performance or something. If our neighbours were more caring, they would have just kept walking and averted their gaze.
I walked out on the road to get the mail box opened when a couple of neighbours walked by and the little girl with them started screaming “Mittens?” “Mittens!!” and ran across the road and snatched my water bottle from my arms. Her mother kept saying “no that is not Mittens, Mittens is dead honey.” The little girl bit me and pulled harder on road kill. “What are you talking about, she’s not dead, her body is still warm. Feel it mom! Mrs. Appleford stole my kitty.” And then she started to kick me.
Then her grandmother came out and started to hit me with the broom and I was trying to explain it was not Mittens, it was my road kill and I wanted my damn road kill back because it was a gift from my husband. Suddenly they stopped and road kill fell to the ground. The pink ribbon had come undone and was lying in the dirt all wrinkled and ugly. I started to cry as I fell in the dirt and gathered up the bottle and ribbon and tried to tie the bow back on. And when I looked up they were backing off slowly, holding onto one another, until they all turned and ran for the house. I heard the door slam and saw the blinds being yanked down.
Did I mention that I am really lonely here and have no friends?
I think I am now that house on the street where children dare each other to go up and knock on the door after telling horrible stories about kids who did that once and were never seen again…..
Hubby told me later, “You shouldn’t have called it road kill.”
He’s right of course. I renamed it immediately.
Now I call it “Mittens.”