The ole man has another tale to tell in the dramatic saga that is LIFE when approaching your centenary:
‘I looked down in the shower and my red facecloth was lying there. I thought Who The Heck put it there? Its usually in the bath, not the shower.’
‘Then I looked again and it was bigger than my facecloth and growing in size. It was blood. The shower floor was covered in blood. I immediately knew what it was.’ (He always immediately knows what things are, what caused them, and if you wait half a breath he’ll tell you the cure for it as well).
‘It was my diverticulitis again. You bleed out your bum from little pouches in your colon rupturing. I had an op, you know, years ago, but now it was back.‘
‘I called the office and two ladies came to help. I told them the cause and they lay me down and inspected my exhaust pipe. While the one was gazing intently up there, the other one said Hey, Look! There’s a big cut on his ankle!’
‘Turns out there was a sharp splinter on the corroded part of the shower aluminium door at ankle height and I had cut my ankle without even noticing it.‘
‘They bandaged me up and all’s well. AND as a bonus, I now know my bum’s fine.‘
Poor ladies need a medal, dark glasses and probly therapy.
A light shower started which soon increased to a heavy downpour, then back to a light shower followed by sunshine. Another lovely day. The end.
People say they can make it rain by having a braai. My rain seems to come after I have eventually and reluctantly had to top up my pool to just above the weir after enduring the kreepy krauly pool cleaner’s death rattle for too long.
I used to have a simple beauty regimen: For my face I would use Palmolive soap; For my body I would use Palmolive soap; For my wisp of hair I would use Palmolive soap; For my feet I would use Palmolive soap; Not to be too vain, but it worked for me, knowaddimean? I mean a quick glance will tell you:
Today was different. There was no Palmolive soap in the shower so instead I chose – from the vast array of expensive stuff that now fills the shower we’re all sharing while new bathrooms are being made –
Danger Time shower gel.
I came out smelling, so the blurb tells me, of
The Scent of Courage.
As the Axe ad said: A Step Up, Eksê! Watch out, damsels.
Showering one-year-old Tom in my arms in the ablutions at FlatDogs camp in Zambia I must have squeezed him a bit too hard, as he shot out of my arms like a slippery bar of soap and landed flat on his back on the shower floor!
Waaah! he squawked when he got his breath back after a deadly-silent second! What’s wrong? call Aitch and Jessie from the ladies section next door (separated from us by a thin reed wall). YIKES!! I picked him up hurriedly and spent the next few hours watching him intently. He was fine, thank goodness! a sueto continua! (the holiday continues!)