I'm being punished. I'm sure of it.
A weekend of no-strings-attached fun, and now I can barely walk. I thought this was supposed to afflict girls rather than guys? Hmmm... think I'll stop that train of thought right there.
Alternatively, this might be punishment for getting very, very drunk and wandering down the hotel corridors on Saturday night/Sunday morning, flicking the "Do No Disturb" signs round to "Please Make Up My Room" on random doors. I'm too old to let fire extinguishers off these days, you see.
Either way, whatever I've done to my leg has become steadily more impressive. Jokes in the office along the lines of "Wahay! Good weekend, eh? Nudge, nudge, wink, wink" have turned into expressions of concern. Which translated into a sick day tomorrow to visit a charming lady with arms like an East European shotputter who will have a general poke about. No, I'm not looking forward to it.
Things came, I think, to a head today when, in an audit, I attempted to stand up from the table and saw the whole world go sparkly and sideways as my leg did its stuff. Then I threw up. Oddly enough, the audit ended pretty quickly after that. I must make a note of that approach for next time.
Or maybe The Ex has a post-makeover Newly doll into which she's sticking needles. Although I can't see it - she's got the creative ability of a rock. A particularly bland rock at that.
