Sunday, 13 November 2011

Illness has many benefits

Of course I observe the level of family support for my near-death experiences. Or should that read, I observe how illness brings out the character in all of us.

Dig takes the opportunity to lock his office door behind him. Nothing new there.

Squirrel, also, remains barely cognisant of my perilous state; she is involved in making a dolly house. She has been on the roof for several days doing stuff, and I don't expect that to change anytime soon. Including when they lower her mother out the bedroom window on a rope to drop her on the waiting hospital trolley below.

Then there is Shark. True to form, she looks between a repeat of yesterday's Daddy dinner and the snortygrumbly mummylump and pushes off. She finds somewhere else to hang out until it's all over, namely the house of a chum down the road.

In her new, healthy household she is immediately adopted as a missing daughter, provided with a cosy bed, taken out and given dinner at a restaurant with her new identical twin sister who doesn't piss her off, and goes and has a fantastic time watching movies and cuddling toy fish. (I do not expect an imminent return.)

But Tiger, dear Tiger, she is all concerned looks and sad states, having become my home-sick therapist of recent weeks. I shall not look unkindly on this companionship. I shall not suggest it is because she has sniffed out her mother's proclivities for comfort-munching on chocolate bars and extra packs of double choc-chip cookies.

So I would just like to reassure her. She now tops the inheritance list, and is first in line for the Tesco value knickers.

Edited to add: It is late Sunday evening. This morning Tiger took another peek at my gurnying pasty face and clearly considered her options. She grabbed a bag of embroidery threads (thanks, Deb) and disappeared. Six hours later she comes home clutching $16. She says this is profit she's made by selling friendship bracelets to tourists from a squat they have set up at the side of the road.

I do not know what to observe first. Whether it should be how in England I would now have exited the roof and be travelling the stratosphere but here, in Hong Kong, sitting in the street selling stuff is obviously alright or, Did you hear that? It was my jaw, landing with a clang on the kitchen floor. Because we are talking about the ultra-timid TIGER?

In either case, I would like to say I do not particularly feel betrayed; she can still have the Tesco value knickers. I am a bit of a miserable old whinge bag and I would have taken the same course of action.

I merely take on board the message as clear as if it were appearing in a blinding flash at the roadside on the way to the hospital. Mother, these children will all look after themselves. You should have sick days more often.

I wonder if I could convince everyone that my true cure would not be lemon water with honey, but cheap gin and easy men?

3 comments:

About Last Weekend said...

Hi there Jody here, nice to meet you. Came through Madame Smoking Gun. I am like my mum when others get sick, not terribly sympathetic. In fact I'm worse that her as at least she used to change our bed linens. I expect the same from my mob when horribly ill....

Deb said...

Gin, sure - but men? Not what I crave when sick. Perhaps a lurid and trashy romance instead.

(Yay! about the embroidery floss)

Nora said...

Mothers get quickly forsaken when they are sick. There's not much interesting about them. I forsook my own mother when she was sick in bed with a hernia in the Black Forest at the age of fifteen. I had more interesting things to do.