You’re ill and pregnant, I am simply ill,
so I must shuffle like some ghost butler
who meekly navigates Victorian halls.
I do not complain, nor do I mutter
when sorting out the tea, laundry and food.
But when I change my mind on going out later—
I’d rather stay in, sate your shifting moods
with whispered pick-me-ups and countless cuddles—
you tell me not to with these exact words,
“I’ll be okay my love. I’ve got Pot Noodles.”
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Nov 27, 2011 @ 12:46:12
This is great..you’ve really captured that other world when our senses are blunted by illness, it’s like wading through treacle.
I too have a cold
I’ve never tried pot noodles but I do have a bottle of good Caribbean rum.
Nov 27, 2011 @ 22:20:42
That is so great x