In "signs grad school may be driving me insane," I had a dream the other night that I was trying to describe the Lake Tahoe vacation cabin ethos to a group of Canadians, and came up with, "so, you know how Herculaneum was for the Romans? It's like that."
Furthermore, I had the Little Mermaid song stuck in my head the other day in the shower, with the words changed to, "how many bath poufs can one shower hold?". We have four girls in the apartment, and five little mesh bath poufs. It's ridiculous.
In other news, I slipped on the ice Sunday morning and may well have cracked a rib-- (I landed on my book bag. Such a Medieval Studies grad student-- I was taken out by my Latin dictionary!) I'm shocked and rather annoyed by how much pain can come from such a small thing, and how much my normal movements can be affected.
It also, of course, begs the question of what you do (with Valentine's and his birthday both rapidly approaching) for a young man who not only bakes fresh baguettes as he first promised to do over the weekend, but also helps you brush your hair, makes up ice packs, waits three hours with you at the health center, helps you in and out of bed, and does your laundry for you--all after nursing you through the stomach flu the week before, and with nothing but promises of weeks and weeks of helping you pick things off the floor and put things on high shelves, if there is a break? I feel like all of a sudden he's dating a needy old woman.
I'm also, it should be noted, trying to make it not be a break with my sheer force of will-- but if it hurts this badly tomorrow, I'm going to go in and make them take x-rays.
Furthermore, I had the Little Mermaid song stuck in my head the other day in the shower, with the words changed to, "how many bath poufs can one shower hold?". We have four girls in the apartment, and five little mesh bath poufs. It's ridiculous.
In other news, I slipped on the ice Sunday morning and may well have cracked a rib-- (I landed on my book bag. Such a Medieval Studies grad student-- I was taken out by my Latin dictionary!) I'm shocked and rather annoyed by how much pain can come from such a small thing, and how much my normal movements can be affected.
It also, of course, begs the question of what you do (with Valentine's and his birthday both rapidly approaching) for a young man who not only bakes fresh baguettes as he first promised to do over the weekend, but also helps you brush your hair, makes up ice packs, waits three hours with you at the health center, helps you in and out of bed, and does your laundry for you--all after nursing you through the stomach flu the week before, and with nothing but promises of weeks and weeks of helping you pick things off the floor and put things on high shelves, if there is a break? I feel like all of a sudden he's dating a needy old woman.
I'm also, it should be noted, trying to make it not be a break with my sheer force of will-- but if it hurts this badly tomorrow, I'm going to go in and make them take x-rays.
5 Comments:
Oh dear! You have my complete sympathy and should start feeling strong wishes for your health emanating from the midwest about now.
*heal!*
By
Vanessa, at 4:14 PM
...begs the question of what you do... for a young man who [is ridiculously good to you]
Perhaps you needn't worry so about fighting fire with fire. That Kilt Boy might well find his reward less in what you do than in who you are. (That being said, cooking something grand for the boy is in general an excellent option, health permitting.)
May your rib merely be bruised- I'm seconding the wishes from Vanessa...
By
Patrick, at 8:20 PM
Well, I would offer you an internet based hug, but maybe a hug isn't such a great idea about now. Instead, I will send you good thoughts. I will, however, hit your Latin dictionary next time I see it in retaliation for being evil.
By
anna, at 9:29 PM
You could tell KB that when your rib heals, you will repay him with a little feisty role playing...you can act out scenes from The Canterbury Tales or The Lives of Saints...his choice.
(If he chooses the Saints over the lusty Canterbury wives, well, you might well have to re-thing Kilt Boy.)
Sorry about your rib. Ribs do hurt mightily. Unfortunately, The Cure doesn't work on ribs, but regular ibuprofin helps a bundle.
By
Aidan, at 7:10 AM
Pay no attention to the awkward mathematician behind the curtain. I'm sure, like everyone else, your kilted boyfriend has no problem helping you. Can't mail you painkillers, kiddo, so I'll just wish you a speedy recovery and curse Höðr, the Norse god of winter, for making your sidewalks icy.
By
Joel L., at 8:04 PM
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