On Monday evening we exchanged our rather soiled hollow-fibre duvet for individual hand knitted blankets, using the magic cat blanket to cover our feet which were still chilly at times. Not that we need it; there is usually a radiating Rottie down there to keep our tootsies toasty.
Anyway, even the light blankets were unnecessary: halfway through the night I woke up in a pool of sticky sweat and with a mouth as parched as the Sahara. My legs were moistly glued together and a giant canine tongue was licking my feet without end. On top of that I felt queasy and heartburn became nausea as I stumbled to the bathroom.
Happened four times this week. I blame it on work stress, as does my love.
We were up around brunch this morning. Not that we had anything to eat, mind. If I was a member of the female sex, I would seriously be considering the fact that I may be expectant.
For that very reason, we decided yesterday that today was going to be a work day. Starting just before 12 noon we forced our tired bones to walk to the shops and back. Exercise is good for many ailments of the mind, no?
Back home, we used known potions to cool us down. I am so out of shape.
Later I shakily gave the lawns their first summer trim while The One sorted the kitchen and scrubbed the loo. We had some work to do in the bathroom: fix the expensive new toilet seat and move the toilet roll holder to an easier accessible spot.
Believe it or not, those two things are connected. The loo paper was relocated to a spot situated on the opposite wall. Why? Because it beats having to twist 180º on your own axis to reach the loo paper behind you, all the while keeping your lower body perfectly composed on the seat. The extra pressure to one side loosens the screws, leaving the seat hanging by a thread.
Written by I