This was the pretty depressing view from where I was sitting, she back on her feet, me back on my bottom, trying taxi company upon taxi company, begging them to come and pick us up. One hour later we stumbled through the front door, finally at home. It’s strange to report on this little incident because I felt somewhat giddy when it was happening, which is, you will agree, beyond odd. I was eavesdropping on the next cubicle where a woman was answering a doctor’s question about her malaise. Have you fainted? No. Have you eaten too much? No. Have you had anything to drink like coffee or anything alcoholic? No. Have you fallen over? No. Did you develop a fever? No. Have you felt off sometimes today? No. Have you passed water as normal? Yes. Have you been able to move around? Yes.
On and on and on it went, so much so that I slowly but surely started imagining things. How funny would it be if I were to pull that curtain back and go: ‘And why the hell did you call an ambulance on new year’s eve?’. Or: ‘What the hell is wrong with you woman?! Who wants to be in hospital on new year’s eve?’. It all got more and more absurd, as I thought about doing a little dance to entertain my sick mother finishing off with a flourish that would see me toppling backwards through the curtain and into the next cubicle, to the shock of all men in blue.
I very nearly sent her wee sample off to a flying start as I reached the pedal of the bin which begged to be depressed, me seemingly unaware that I had put the container on its lid only a second before. But I am sharp and I caught it just in time. Then I started perusing my face and thanked my lucky stars I still had make up on when we had sat down for Monopoly. Yes, Monopoly, which I was winning by a mile until my mum threw her spanner in my works. Honestly people, you can’t make this stuff up. Happy new year.
