Getting better, no thanks to the sudden snow dump. And hey, I learned something new: coughing causes your heart to pump, so if you get your BP taken while you’re having a coughing fit, the machine declares you in danger of stroke because you’ll read a perilous 183/102.
Fortunately, the worst coughing fits were already over by the time my neuro appointment rolled around – I don’t know if being stabbed in my brain cage would halt the cough reflex, but it’s not the sort of thing I want to practice, you know?
HIM: (backs away)
ME: Seriously? You sleep with me.
HIM: Yeah, but… I face away from you now that you’re coughing…
ME: That’s it. I’m gonna cough in your eyes tonight.
ME: In. Your. Eyes. While you sleep. On purpose.
NURSE: That’s how you get pinkeye.
ME: Nah, you get that from poo.
DR: I don’t think-
ME: At least, that’s how I’ve been doing it.
HIM: (horrified expression)
NURSE: I’m pretty sure it’s not from poo…
ME: So I’ve been smearing poo in people’s eyes for no reason???
DR: (patting me on the shoulder) No, I’m sure you can get it that way too. Now hold still (stabs me in skull with giant fucking needle)
Regarding the legal stuff: there has been some small, itsy, incremental movement on that front. You’ll have to wait a moment while we sort through what we’ve just heard, and while I consider how I want to tell you, but rest assured: something finally happened. Which is great news, especially and most notably for the gobshite former boss, when you think about it.
ME: So… you know how I have that stack of envelopes on my desk?
HIM: (distracted, playing Skyrim) No.
ME: The ones from all the Christmas cards we got from people who weren’t on our Christmas card list, so that I can add them for next year?
HIM: Oh. Yeah.
ME: Right. So… That dickweasel you used to work for sent us one. Not sure if you remember.
HIM: (sighs, puts down controller) Honey…
ME: And I’m not saying I’m going to do anything with that information
OFFSPRING: (from upstairs) Egg his house!
ME: I mean, he’s certainly not getting a Christmas card from us now.
OFFSPRING: (still upstairs) Devilled egg his car!
ME: But I do have his home address. That’s all I’m saying.
HIM: … You cannot drive to that man’s home and key the paint or slice the tires on his black Ford F-150.
ME: (nods meekly) Okay.
HIM: (picks up controller)
ME: (turns to leave, pauses) … Do you happen to know the plate number of the truck I’m absolutely not supposed to mess with? Just in case it’s parked on the street instead of a driveway?
HIM: Plausible deniability goes only so far, honey.
Aaaaaaand now I want deviled eggs. Anyone have a really good recipe? Mine is only so-so. I will also accept particularly sticky/smelly recipes, for… reasons.