The one in which I show my StrokeFace

First things first. You know how I was jesting rather merrily about my sore tooth last post? Well. It got much uglier. There was the emergency dental hospital, stronger painkillers, 11 days of antibiotics, waking at 3am to top up the meds and wait for the throbbing to stop (quite a bit of delusional commenting on blogs happens at that hour of the morning, in case you were wondering) and a whole lot of head-screwing PAIN. This is what I looked like:

UNHAPPY FAT FACE OF PAIN

CHEERFUL FAT FACE OF PAIN

Except it was not funny. I was merely illustrating the stroke-like effect that the infection was causing. There is no light behind those eyes, just suffering from the hideous bang-bang of infection and the shame of looking so distinctly unsymmetrical. There is nothing stylish about an abscess, Dear Reader.

But OH on Monday night I was invited to Betty Herbert‘s book launch at Coco De Mer for 52 Seductions (you know – the wonderful book about remembering to have sex with your husband) which was simply too excellent to miss. I put lots of ice on my enormous misshapen squirrel-saving-up-her-nuts-for-the-long-winter cheeks, did my very best makeup, and tried to shade down the fat bits and enliven the droopy bits and off I went into Londontown, bound for a sex shop and lots of fabulous people.

It was hot, I was sweaty, and I think my theatrical makeup dripped off into my clothes before I arrived. Coco De Mer was full of bloggers and Twitterers and people I sort-of-knew, but only virtually, which was odd, but kind of fun, and after two glasses of pink cava, it didn’t matter who I was talking to. I did preface every introduction with an apology for my swollen face, and I earnestly attempted to show people with my hand how each side was different, the normal uninfected side being the usual me, the ‘stroke’ side being some DREADFUL ABOMINATION OF GOD. Luckily, the clever and milky-bosomed Belgian Waffling was there, and she steered many an awkward monologue from my stroke-face to other, less uncomfortable topics.  She was TOTALLY ACE. @Kirstieh was there, and she let me sniff her pale Chanel 2.55, and @nicky_t was there and she showed me her new tape measure.  And of course, Betty Herbert was there and she was resplendent in a long grecian gown and was full of grace and loveliness and I did not even picture her once in the Reverse Cowgirl position. I did picture her in her fishnet catsuit though. That image never really leaves my head.  Then, everyone went off to the pub, and I went home because I had to eat my salad and take more drugs.

All this talk of sex. On the way to school this week, Barnaby asked me to when we were going to make another baby. I thought that it was as good an opportunity as any to give him the heads up on human reproduction, and so, while walking along the A40 on a Wednesday morning, cars screeching along beside us, while we yelled questions and answers into the automobile vortex of fumes and noise pollution, we had The Talk. It went well, and there were only a few nervous smirks and a few winces and a few vomity-faces (mostly mine) and we got to school with Barnaby in no doubt as to the real reason for having a penis. Of course, the discussion was a bit flawed, as neither of us could hear very well, and we were running late, and so we were distracted, and we had Noah interjecting loud nonsense things like:

“Your diddle has some little fish inside and it swims to the baby and the baby eats the fish. Isn’t that right, mummy?”

“Mmmm, yes, Noah, but please don’t scooter over my feet…” etc etc

And the real discussion between Barnaby and I would have to go from loud to quiet as we passed the commuters who were on their way to the Marks & Spencer’s head office, trying not to yell “PENIS” and “VAGINA” and “EXCITED”-words at the wrong moment. It was awkward.

Anyway, here is some photographic evidence of the Illicit Fruit Sampling:

 

 

 

 

 

What do I do with the little nibbled bits of formerly-lovely-in-season-and-fragrant stonefruit? Make a crumble? Force the kids to eat them? Give up buying nice fruit? Or just hide it high up in the fridge? Ideas, anyone?


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4 Responses to The one in which I show my StrokeFace

  1. alison cross says:

    oh look at your wee hamster cheek!!!! (((hug))) You poor thing! Belgian Waffle was saying lovely things about you too over on her blog. Sounds like you complimented each other perfectly – she of the milky bosom and you of the squirrel nutkins cheek.

    I may look at this book about how to have sex. But since I don’t really have sex now, it may just languish on my shelf like so many of my enthusiastic cook-book purchases. There’s nowhere for me to by a fishnet body suit. And I’m not sure that my hubby would like the ‘mozzarella in a string bag’ look as a prelude to sex. But *on a brighter note* maybe I can find someone else who WILL!

    The Talk – always difficult. I just add a little more fact to it every time we have it. And one day the tale will be complete. Sometime before he has to actually DO it, I hope.

    Really hope this abscess is conquered soon!

    Ali x

  2. alison cross says:

    …and that SHOULD, of course, have been COMPLEMENTED. Sorry! *sigh* Ali x

  3. Poor poor poor you. It’s HORRIBLE when teeth go wrong. I want your antibiotics to work. Why aren’t they working dammit?!?

  4. Oh my goodness, the hamster cheek of pain should only occur once per lifetime.

    I hope this is your once and only.

    BTW, i think you looked really cute in your last post when you put on your photos, especially when you were preggers. Sweet as.

    BUT
    No more kidiwinks, have you worked out the cost of coming back to NZ with ONE MORE?
    Is Feijoa ice cream worth it?

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