This Monday I like. I'm not often a fan of Mondays, but when Tuesday will be your last working day before the holidays, it puts a whole different slant on things. It also means that the Wednesday I normally dislike becomes the first day of the holidays and so my new best friend.
A piece of friendly advice, when you have a sachet of hot sauce and you dispense the contents into your meal. Don't be tempted to take that little bit left on the sachet raw. It's best mixed in, trust me. I may not be able to taste anything between now and Easter... in fact maybe never again.
I'm typing with one and a half hands - on Saturday I dislocated my thumb and so most of my right hand is encased in a bright pink plastercast. I think these colored casts are meant for kids, but the doctor obviously fancied me and I think the pink cast was her coded way of telling me so. Course, my gaydar could be completely screwed, but I think the fact she gave my mate Max her number incase I should want to call her when the painkillers wore off, kind of makes my case.
Why did she give it to Max, I hear you ask. Well I had already said a polite 'no thanks' - following the earring episode the last thing I needed was a piece of paper in my pocket with a telephone number on it! And besides, I'm married and so, painkillers or not, the answer is always gonna be 'no'.
I'm also in trouble for the dislocated thumb. No sympathy from the beautiful ray of sunshine that is my wife. She finds my college friends somewhat of a chore and I always get the disapproving look when I say it's that time again when the guys and I go ice skating. It only happens once a year, and in the last 10 years this is the first time I've come home with more than the obligatory bruises.
My mate Fergus couldn't join us this year as he is still in New York. Without him, we number a mere 6 - me, Max, Rick, Rob, Toby and Mulgrew. We cut a dashing set on the rink, well maybe not Mulgrew. His skating abilities are sorely non-existent. The rest of us can skate. Well, okay we don't sit down too many times, all things considered. This dislocated thumb is our worst injury since Mulgrew broke his wrist 5 years ago, so I reckon we're doing pretty good - and if he had been concentrating on where he was putting his feet instead of on the blonde, even that might not have happened. My wife usually describes our little get togethers as if we are the harbingers of mass destruction and I was waiting for the full on assault on the old eardrums when I, complete with pink cast, arrived home.
It didn't happen. I feel like someone who knew they were about to step off the top of a tall building only to discover that, instead of taking a long drop, somebody had erected a staircase and now you're standing on the top step not quite sure of your next move. Or the lawyer who has assembled a whole host of convincing defense arguments only to discover the prosecutor hasn't bothered to turn up.
Did I say I was looking forward to Wednesday? Maybe I want to rethink my options...
