Words from a Bird. Day 45
I can tell that I am improving slightly, as I am starting to feel a bit useless. Every part of me is screaming out to be let loose with the hoover, the washing machine or the iron, or any other appliance whose location seems to be a secret to the rest of my family members.
I feel the need to sort out how the fridge is looking - the ketchup is in the wrong place and I still can't find the milk (assuming that anyone else has thought to buy any that is). Lids have been almost returned to Tupperware boxes, their contents relieved of any scrap of moisture that they were clinging on to.
There are clothes everywhere, and I want to sort them into 'washing', 'ironing', 'hanging up' or 'God knows' piles. Looking at the amount of clothing lying around, I won't be surprised if the other house occupants resort to nudity soon as the only obvious alternative to their lack of clothing.
However, I am still at the stage where getting my drawers on is a military manoeuvre and socks have become the unattainable dream. Bras have taken a back seat, as the strap sits quite perfectly on the broken rib, so I am having to dress carefully to avoid shocking the husband, the children, or anyone who has the misfortune of having me open the door to them. This means layering of heavily patterned clothes to avoid ONS (Obvious Nipple Syndrome). I have taken to looking like one of the ladies on Loose Women, or a Turkish rug...not sure which is preferable to be honest. Of course, being unable to wear socks also denies me the tried and tested way of dealing with middle aged unfettered boobs...
So I am sitting very still, with my mouth zipped firmly tight, hoping that by some sort of ESP, I can relate to the family my need for them to do the household chores, even the ones which they wouldn't normally think of.
Oh, and not look at my boobs....