Everything hurts...

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I've been back at Pilates now for a few weeks.  There was about a year long break which involved two weddings, a knackered knee and a month in Scotland, but you'll be pleased to hear that I have fully thrown myself into my two sessions a week with the lovely Alex. 

The first on on Monday morning at 9.30, so there is little time to talk myself out of it.  Fast forward an hour, and I am trotting out of the village hall with a spring in my step, happy and proud that I have managed to firstly turn up and then do most of the things asked of me.  There are a couple of moves that I still believe are utterly impossible without breaking a leg or swapping your head for a screwtop lid, but for the most part, I do ok.

Tuesday night is another story however.

From then, every move is accompanied with an 'ooh' or an 'aah' and the husband finds this hilarious.  His favourite trick is to make me do a semi-sit up when he kisses me before he leaves for work.  My wincing face is his lasting view of me for the day, and he seems to take great pleasure in my aches and pains.

This morning though, I got my own back.

Yesterday, he went to work for a mate doing some plumbing work.  Although this is his speciality, he hasn't really done much of it over the past seven years, preferring to stay in the warm tea hut and order the poor unfortunates who work for him around instead.

'How was your day?' I asked him when he got home last night.

'Well. I've put three radiators in, plumbed in a couple of bathrooms and checked the under floor heating system.  I've had a great day'.

That may have been so, but this morning, he couldn't get his socks on.  Nor could he bend over to pull his trousers up or lift his arms to get his t-shirt on.  And don't get me started on the stairs.  They were compared to an assault course this morning as he headed down to the kitchen and he muttered something about buying a bungalow.

'I'm off', he shouted ten minutes later.

'Where's my kiss goodbye?' I asked him.

Yes dear readers, I made him walk all the way upstairs again ( on all fours for the last three steps) and bend at 45 degrees to reach my puckered lips. He then turned, and with a painful sigh, retreated down the stairs again, clutching the balustrade like it was all that stood between him and death.

He's been there again today and I can't wait to ask him how his day went. 

Assuming he's managed to hoist his sorry carcass into his truck....




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