Insufferable Pain

It’s true I have to find a job. 

It’s also true I’ve grown rather fond of my routines.  In particular, as a matter of course, the routine of taking a nap after lunch.

   On this occasion I was suffering.  Suffering as only someone who over does their routine in the gym can suffer.  It was the ball of my foot; and I haven’t as of yet figured out why this aching continues to happening.  What I do know is that limping around the house causes the nurse in my wife to flurry up into the immediate firefighter attentiveness, and take charge.

     So she wraps my offending limb in ice and then scurries into the kitchen asking me as she leaves,

   “From one to ten how bad is the pain?”

   Now we’ve sandbagged pain pills from several past dentist visits for, what I thought, this very sort of an occasion.  You know, situations in which one of us needed pain relief immediately and didn’t want to have to suffer the hours it takes in the ER to get a doctor to agree that well that we’re suffering pain.  So I’m thinking, pain pills, I tell her “six” because I also guard my male ego from appearing too much like a simpering little girl. 

   “You get three”

Three? Man I am going to be flying. 

   “Three pain pills?” I reply

   “No, three aspirin.” 

  Well, crumb, big fat hairy deal, that’s a rescue from pain?  She comes up to me and tells me to open my mouth. Then, while tossing the pills into my open mouth, she blows in my face; the very trick we use to get pain pills down our cat Obediah.  Except in my case, I get stinking Ibuprofen. 

I had to capture this slight before I forgot it.  Now, I have to go back to the couch and keep my foot elevated.