Poor Alpha managed to inflict 2nd degree burns on himself this weekend, which just serves to demonstrate that twiddling with the radiator cap attached to a hot car engine is never a wise idea. But he was pretty lucky in that he only managed to cook part of his hand and forearm - it could have been much worse. The resulting blisters are quite stunning and it is only my commendable sense of common decency, oh yes, and my fear of making you all feel a bit sick, that's stopping me from posting the pictures.
Alpha was very brave and manly about his injury, even though it must have hurt like crazy (and probably still does). Personally I would have been shrieking in agony and writhing about on the floor while shouting for painkilling drugs... but then I will happily admit to being a wuss.
The only real problem is that Alpha's right arm is trussed up and he has to avoid getting it wet for the rest of the week. This isn't a problem in itself, you'll understand - the problem is that Alpha is (quite reasonably) keen to avoid developing a stench about his person, and so has called upon my assistance when washing. And herein the issue lies.
While Alpha was able to withstand the pain of turning his arm into a barbeque with nary a grunt, it appears he is incapable of being washed without writhing about like a walrus whilst bellowing complaints and accusing me of tickling him on purpose. And as for washing his hair, well, all I can say is that our children are much better behaved at bathtime and, when compared to their dear darling papa, have the sweet dispositions of angels.
While I will happily soothe my poor husband's fevered brow and make appropriate sympathetic noises, cook his dinner and do all I can to assist in his speedy recovery, I now draw the line at bathing him. Unless of course he promises to mend his ways and mind his bathtime manners.
What say you, Alpha?
Alpha was very brave and manly about his injury, even though it must have hurt like crazy (and probably still does). Personally I would have been shrieking in agony and writhing about on the floor while shouting for painkilling drugs... but then I will happily admit to being a wuss.
The only real problem is that Alpha's right arm is trussed up and he has to avoid getting it wet for the rest of the week. This isn't a problem in itself, you'll understand - the problem is that Alpha is (quite reasonably) keen to avoid developing a stench about his person, and so has called upon my assistance when washing. And herein the issue lies.
While Alpha was able to withstand the pain of turning his arm into a barbeque with nary a grunt, it appears he is incapable of being washed without writhing about like a walrus whilst bellowing complaints and accusing me of tickling him on purpose. And as for washing his hair, well, all I can say is that our children are much better behaved at bathtime and, when compared to their dear darling papa, have the sweet dispositions of angels.
While I will happily soothe my poor husband's fevered brow and make appropriate sympathetic noises, cook his dinner and do all I can to assist in his speedy recovery, I now draw the line at bathing him. Unless of course he promises to mend his ways and mind his bathtime manners.
What say you, Alpha?
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