So, TINS©, TDW-Mark II had set out, because TSIL-Mark II (The Sister In Law-Mark II) had undergone surgery of some sort, and required assistance in the couple of weeks post operation. TDW does not work outside the home, and I flatter myself that I am sort of self sufficient. So, off she went.
Her journey to Another Fly Over State was unremarkable. She arrived, and notified me of this fact. I cooked up a batch of food, ensuring a supply of left overs for my work day repast. I laundered clothing and suchlike, and folded and hung same. I washed the dishes, and then put them away. I went to work, came home, played with the cats, and generally bummed around.
Just like I was a grown up, and had, oh, heck, maybe, done all this stuff before, right?
So, one evening I had changed into pajamas, hanging my pants and shirt up on the hook in the closet. My routine is that I will, the next morning, retrieve said pants and shirt, and transfer all my whatnot from old clothing, into the pockets of new clothing.
Well, when I do so, and leave my cellphone in my pants pocket, and retire to another room altogether to watch “Battleship New Jersey” videos (highly recommended, BTW!), or The History Guy videos (another enthusiastic Thumbs Up! Recommendation!), well, I cannot hear the ringer on my phone. Since I am not youthful, and do not have a pristine medical record, and, as well, TDW-Mark II is a bit of a worry wart, well, when I do not answer my phone, nor the texts, and this continues for something like a half an hour, well, she gets excited and calls a friend of ours, who also lives in town, requesting that he meander over and verify that I am not folded up on the floor, with the cats poking me and asking when I will arise, and feed them. Or something.
So, much to my surprise, our friend rang my doorbell at something like 2200 hours, and explained the preceding paragraph to me. I retrieved my phone, and promptly called TDW, and reassured her that I was NOT a crumpled heap of geezerhood at the bottom of the stairs.
The ringing in my ear, from the chastisement I subsequently received, has nearly resolved, as I write these words.
Musings of A Stretcher Ape 
WHAT? Lemme switch ears.
The few, OK, way-too-many times I’ve gotten halfway to work before realizing- oops, phone is charging, I worried that people would worry. Get back home and…Huh. No calls or texts. Crap. They don’t care about me! 🙂
At least someone will come looking for your desiccated corpse, you lucky dog!
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Proverbs 21:19
It is better to dwell in the wilderness, than with a contentious and an angry woman.
Did you write from an remote undisclosed location, huddled trembling under a tarp, clutching your fiercest guardcat, a powerful handgun and a still-smoking telephone, fearful of wild beasts that could creep upon you undetected due to spouse inflicted tinnitus?
No, l’m not suggesting your dear wife is contentious. Her wrath was righteous and a sign she deeply cares for you; you walked right into it, buddy. When the Senior Life Alert necklace appears among the festival gifts it is a sign of concern over advancing years; when someone takes the batteries out, it is time to worry because they may be trying to halt them. Stay out of trouble!
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“Did you write from an remote undisclosed location, huddled trembling under a tarp, clutching your fiercest guardcat, a powerful handgun and a still-smoking telephone, fearful of wild beasts that could creep upon you undetected due to spouse inflicted tinnitus?”
TDW LOL’d at that.
She asked, have you and I met?
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Sadly, no; though the Spirit of McFee may have come upon the last Doc to inflict medicine upon me.
The local he injected hurt more than the injuries. He expressed appreciation for my pithy comments by exerting vigour above and beyond in applying a generous number of staples to the split in my dented skull. I suspect he moonlights as a carpet layer and brought his favourite industrial tool to his day job. He also seems to be a keen gardener and mechanic, and mistook my broken toe for a weed which he tried to pull up by the roots, and unscrew. I never knew alpha gorillas passed medical school.
We got on swimmingly, but there’s a limit to my masochism, and hopefully to his corresponding sadism; the nurses were in stitches and he couldn’t justify committing any more treatments. I commiserated with him in his yearning to go play with his yacht rather than reassembling impertinent imbeciles and fled. It was an epic duel of blackbelt sarcasm, and his cheerful “go thou, and screweth up no more” keeps me fearfully careful lest I again fall alive into the hands of the living Dr Silverback.
You see, Reltney, I binge read your entire blog some time ago, and greedily snap up the grudging instalments as the crumbs tumble from your desk, and I believe I have gotten to somewhat know you. A lifetime of dealing with broken humanity has armoured your hide and tempered your character; if I ever went back into clinical work I think we’d have a hoot working together, despite your relentless persecution of us poor Tobacconites. Now I’m going to have a smoke rather than be accused of blowing it, and await the next crumb. Buy your Queen the Flowers of Propitiation and Adoration, and stay out of trouble!
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