It’s Not All Mary Poppins

Work-Related Accident, Update

Apparently my ruse of not telling the parents has proven futile, at least in the case of Arthur’s parents. Well, I had told Arthur’s dad, who has had a few back problems of his own, and he’d given me the name of a physiotherapist, though not, as it happens, the one I actually saw.

As I’m waving Arthur goodbye, a neighbour calls out from his porch to ask how I’m doing. “Not so great. Had a work-related accident.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Tripped over a baby gate.”

We all laugh. Ho, ho, ho. I am so funny.

Arthur’s mum looks up at me. “Is this the cleaned-up version?”

“Nope. That’s what happened.”

“Because Arthur’s been telling us you tripped over the baby.”

Well, thanks a helluva lot, Arthur.

“No, I did not. He trips over the baby. I do not.”

More laughter. Ho, ho, ho bloody ho…

Glad we sorted that out…

January 17, 2006 Posted by | Mischief, the dark side, the things they say! | 11 Comments

Where’s the Glamour? I Demand Glamour!

The elderly man in the waiting room at the physiotherapist’s this afternoon watched as I gingerly eased myself into the chair and sighed my way slowly down to my bootlaces.

“Done your back in, have you?” His voice is sympathetic, a fellow-sufferer.

“Yes, it seems I have.” Maintaining the perfect posture I have practiced all week, I walk across the room then place my boots on the mat by dint of doing very deep knee-bends while keeping that back very, very straight. When I get as low as my quaking thighs will allow, which is far lower than I could a week ago, (this would be my silver lining) I drop the boots from my fingertips. Two points for a straight landing. I am getting very good at this.

“A sports injury, was it?”

Well. What a wonderful old fellow he is, yes he is. Sports injury? Uh-huh. Young and spry, I am. The only reason I’m moving like a woman of eighty-two is that little incident I had while pole-vaulting last weekend. Yes, indeed. I like this. I like this man. This kind and perceptive man. He returns my smile, probably a bit bemused by its enthusiasm. Sadly, honesty compels me to disillusion him.

“Nothing so glamourous, no. In fact, I tripped over the baby gate while carrying a basket of laundry.”

He winces appreciatively, and so do I. He’s thinking of the pain. I’m thinking of the lack of cachet. Baby gates and laundry baskets are not in the same league as “sports injury”. The sad truth is that in my line of work, stubbing your toes and bruising your shins on a baby gate as your legs stop dead in the kitchen, followed by wrenching your lower back as your torso plunges into the dining room, your body coming to an abrupt and muscle-searing stop when your arms slam the laundry basket down onto the dining room floor, while your butt forms the dramatic apex of your not-so-graceful descent in the air over said baby gate — the pathetic truth is that in my line of work, this ridiculous event constitutes a work-related injury.

But if anyone asks, it was the pole-vaulting.

January 17, 2006 Posted by | the dark side | 16 Comments