Well, it’s Monday again.
Funny how that happens about this time every week, isn’t it?
I had a pretty good weekend, although it didn’t start off all that auspiciously. My adorable boyfriend, who I may or may not have mentioned is completely off his nut in certain aspects of his personal interests, decided to get up at the crack of crazy on Saturday morning to go out and look at birds, even though we have two perfectly good ones living inside the house already.
Just super convenient.
But nooo, he wants to see different birds (which at least he does not bring back home with him, thank the Lord), so he came in to say farewell to me a good three or four hours before any sensible person is even thinking blearily about how nice a cup of coffee might be, and where the heck are my glasses, and who is going to cook my eggs if my boyfriend’s not here to do it?
And that’s when everything went wrong.
Because as soon as he came into the room, I woke up with a horrible cramp in my left calf, otherwise known as a Charley Horse, even though it bears no earthly relation to either one, that I am aware of.
Now, in all of the respected medical journals, the accepted treatment for this unfortunate condition is to leap from bed as if electrocuted and hobble pathetically (and lopsidedly) around the room, screaming “Oh no, no, no, no, oh good God please no,” while grabbing wildly at the affected area and praying for the sweet release of death.
And believe me, I was quite prepared to apply this time-honored remedy (even if I had to go through my boyfriend to do it), when I suddenly realized that I was suffering from a second life-threatening condition, heretofore undiagnosed:
My foot was asleep.
ON THE SAME FREAKIN’ LEG.
This, of course, completely prevented conventional treatment of the Charley Horse, as I would have simply collapsed like a stone to the floor immediately upon standing, and the Charley Horse prevented conventional treatment of the sleeping foot, which is to lie very still and try not to move it too much, because moving it feels even weirder.
You know what I’m talking about.
Thus I was reduced to a weird, twitching, blubbering mess on the side of the bed, with my poor sweet boyfriend offering to give me a piggyback around the room if that would help, anything, anything at all, just please stop making that NOISE, and eventually both conditions resolved themselves, but I was left walking around with what felt like a rock in my calf for a while, and the inescapable feeling that perhaps falling asleep meditating in the horizontal lotus position was not the best idea after all.
Yes, I know.
I never said I wasn’t crazy too.
I think that goes without saying, in fact.
I will note, however, that according to the Wikipedia article, in Sweden a Charley Horse is referred to as lårkaka or “thigh cookie,” which almost makes it sounds delicious, so I’m considering moving there next time it happens.
I’m sure this will come as a relief to many.