Pressing on...

And in a blink of an eye, we are back to normal life (whatever normal is, I still haven't figured that one out yet).

It was back to Pilates this morning - my first session in five months, so there was a lot of creaking going on with the old knees.  I'm not what sure what we did in today's class, but what I do know is that I will be paying for it till at least Sunday.  I'm walking round the house this afternoon like an eighty year old woman with a Dowager's Hump who's wearing a bra which is five times too small for her.  The husband will be thrilled to see me when he gets back home later and discovers that his wife can now do a passable impression of a side table.

My sister, Mrs L2B (she has the ring, we are just waiting for the date) had a run in with the floor last year which led to rather a major op on Saturday to put everything back to where it should be.   Strapped up to the gunnels, rattling with painkillers and sporting a rather swish navy blue sling, she has been called Fruit Machine by her beau, Mr L.  This is his attempt at humour, as he is implying she is a one armed bandit.  I've been trying to keep her company this week - I'm sure that my detailed stories of Scotland have done wonders in keeping her mind off the pain, in fact, I'm sure I saw her nod off a couple of times when I was telling her about Culloden.

Yesterday, I offered to do her ironing for her (this is despite the fact that there is four weeks' worth of clothing and bedding at my house in various states of dirty/wet/clean/unironed/needs to go in again stretched out on the kitchen floor, doing a passable impression of the Isle of Wight).  

Well, she was ready for me.  A neat basket of clothes to flatten, some hangers and another basket's worth still on the line.  So we chatted while I ironed and it was soon done.  There was a small altercation with the ironing board which decided to conceal its release handle under several layers of foam and material, but I got there in the end, and manhandled it back into its cupboard with a couple of well chosen expletives and my left foot.

I left the iron on the side to cool down, and sitting down to a nice cup of tea later that evening, I had a text from Mr L, who I have come to learn is very brave when he's more than ten miles away.  The text contained a picture of the iron (still on the kitchen counter) with one word underneath....'Really?'  Like I said, he is rather brave.  

I'll get my own back though.  Next time I do some ironing for her, I'm going to starch his pants.

What with that and my back, 'stiff' seems to be the word of the day...