A quick recap: First there was this.
Then this.
And then a bit of this.
Before any of this can happen I needed a pre-op
assessment to make sure I was fit enough. One look at me should have told them
that but they insisted on asking me some questions. I was dispatched with my
notes to the “Magnolia Suite”. Trades description would have a field day as it
is neither magnolia or suite. I would have gone for "Lavender Drab". Fortunately I didn't have to wait very long, I didn't even have time for a proper game of “guess your illness”. I was taken
into a room where vital stats were recorded and yet another nurse asked for my
phone number under the ruse that she would need it to let me know when the
operation was. Being pestered by nympho nurses is something you get used to
when you’re as gorgeous as me…..and you've broken something. My height, blood
pressure and sub60 BPM pulse were all confirmed as awesome but then came
probably the most scariest part.
I had to be weighed!!!
It is essential that an accurate weight be obtained in order for the knocker-outer lady to work out how much sleepy juice to administer. A plaster cast, erratic exercise regime, bad weather and Christmas had each taken their toll and my winter coat was still very much evident. Just like the mirror at home, the scales didn't lie. Since my failed argument with gravity last October I have stacked on an extra stone and a bit, and trying to ignore it was like trying to pretend the drunk, sky high fruit loop in the Post Office queue wasn't there.
I had to be weighed!!!
It is essential that an accurate weight be obtained in order for the knocker-outer lady to work out how much sleepy juice to administer. A plaster cast, erratic exercise regime, bad weather and Christmas had each taken their toll and my winter coat was still very much evident. Just like the mirror at home, the scales didn't lie. Since my failed argument with gravity last October I have stacked on an extra stone and a bit, and trying to ignore it was like trying to pretend the drunk, sky high fruit loop in the Post Office queue wasn't there.
Over an epic lunch of crisps, chocolate and cake I
have decided it’s time to commence “Operation: Put The Fork Down”. If I am to
regain my honed athletic physique I must conquer Professor Biscuits in his
secret under ground base, otherwise known as “the jar in the kitchen cupboard”.
Time and time again he has returned despite numerous attempts to drown him and
eat him in boiling hot tea or coffee. This time, his fete will be sealed in the
belly of two more fearsome creatures that will tear Professor Biscuits and his
army limb from limb in a psychotic armageddon of baked chocolatety loveliness.
Behold the minions of which I speak!