Up at midnight to aim a hot shower at suddenly sore back and scrrrrrratchhhhhhh all over, cunningly disguised as washing. Alternately clenching my jaw and gurning like a MaDMAn …. feeling sick, sore, scratchy and of course it’s all minor.
Grrrumble whinge whine bitch moan …
When I win the lottery, I’m going to buy a psychiatrist and it will be my bitch. It will pander to me 24/7 – every mood shift, every symptom and side effect. It will be epic.
Me: *imperious ringing of pavlovian bell/cellphone*
It: (scurrying) Y-y-yes, your lowness?
Me: (petulant) I am ITCHY!
It: (stricken) I’ll get Kristin Scott Thomas, a vat of lotion and a paintbrush right away, your lowness!