Thursday, 21 June 2012

Day Eight

My leg started twitching this morning at 2pm when I woke up. I don't know why it was twitching it just seemed to want to do a one-legged version of the Madness 'Baggy Trousers' dance. After some time of watching it do this, and after a short period of joining in with my other leg so it didn't feel left out, I slapped it until it stopped.
By this point it was nearly lunchtime (3pm) and as I had missed breakfast I decided to have a picnic in bed. Making myself smiley face sandwiches (ham as the face, ready salted hula hoops as eye/nose/mouth, ketchup as smile and eyebrows) and a mug of coffee (milk, no sugar, big spoon for stirring, it feels like a big spoon day) I settled down to eat.
The doorbell rang and after a moment or two of wiping ketchup stains from my male breast areas I go to answer the door. It is Lucy, the girl from the shop with the large chest. She says she has come round to check on me, having been away for a few days and being told about my 'episode'. I can only think this refers to my drug-fuelled world domination by biscuits situation that I keep trying to forget, and invite her in.
Naturally, my living room is incredibly tidy, and everything is in alphabetical order, except the lightswitch, which is in the corner by the A items, but which I can't move because the last time I tried I don't remember much except I had black fingers and I had landed in the kitchen and bruised my sternum. I didn't even know I had a sternum but apparently everybody does. It is some sort of a bone.
Lucy sits on the couch (not sofa, as it is in the C section. I appreciate I could have called it a chair or cushioned seating surface, but I like the warm feeling 'couch' makes on my tongue as I say it.) and I offer her a cup of coffee. It turns out that she doesn't like coffee as it 'makes her mental' and I laugh and wonder what she means as I clean the crumbs that she might see under the microwave away.
She looks confused when I deliver a cup of tea with a garnish of grated carrot and chewing gum but I explain that this is because I don't have any biscuits in. She smiles and takes two sugar lumps from the bowl I had just found in the cupboard (the sugar lumps I had made a few days earlier when I accidentally dropped the sugar jar in the sink and spent several hours chopping the solidified sugar lump into cubes (alas I could not get them all to equal dimensions, and apologise for this.)) (I also feel I should apologise for the use of double brackets there, as I feel this is poor penmanship and I don't even know if penmanship is a word. Is a writer a penman? Because I'm typing this. Not using a pen. Anyway.)
Lucy finishes her cup of tea and delights in her carrot garnish. She leaves the chewing gum as it is an Airwaves eucalypyus flavour one and she says she doesn't have a blocked nose.
After a very long silence (not actually a silence, as we are watching Bargain Hunt on the telly) I decide to take a bold step. I take a deep breath and ask her to accompany me on my adventure of travelling the country and enjoying myself and she says she would love to. I am slightly put aback by this as I have memorized her work timetable and she is actually due in work every day except Tuesday from 10am til 4pm, but she tells me that she is actually on holiday for the next two weeks (minus four days, which she had already had as a holiday) and she has nothing else better to do. I begin to suggest better things for her to do when she interrupts me and says there is nothing she would rather do than go on an adventure with me. She hugs me and leaves and I am left confused. Really I only invited her as I have no idea how to read the map and now I'm worried that suddenly we are on some sort of date. I suppose that can't be all bad, as she does have a very nice chest and her shoes are well polished.
I realise my trousers are on backwards and go to bed for a lie down and to read the Toolstation catalogue that just arrived.
Before I go to sleep I order a selection of drills ranging from 3mm up to 12.5mm. I don't really need them but I am quite pleased with myself.
It is 3am when I wake up and realise the MISC ART is still in my bed and I appear to have drooled on Keith Chegwin's left eye. Then I realise it isn't Keith Chegwin, it just looks like him, albeit somewhat alarmed and with a drooled on eye.

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