Got some time on my hands.

Monday, I had the pleasure (insert scream here) of having my right biceps tendon removed from where nature put it and re-tacked in a spot that my arm doesn't seem to approve of all that much. Since said surgery, I've been "recovering" (read as: stoned on narcotics) at home in our big brown recliner. I've really come to like this chair except for one small detail. The lever thing that allows the foot to go up and down is on the right side of the chair...the same side as my reconstructed wing. Yep..you can see this coming can't you...I get trapped in the chair. I can't lie on our sofa because there have been whole PEOPLE that have disappeared when they have sat on that sofa. It's one of those really soft, sofas with a vortex. You just can't get out of it once you sit down. Which is really funny when you have well dressed house guests, but I digress.

So my well meaning husband gets me all tucked into the chair. Juice on the left side, laptop all plugged in, blankies, pillows, telephone, etc. It never fails...he leaves the room and my bladder, who has been well behaved all morning, starts making comments about how FULL it is. I try to ignore my bladder, but it's about as easy to ignore as a fire siren in the room. So..I weakly and pathetically (for effect, I really don't feel that bad), call for Joe who trudges back in and proceeds to untuck me from all of the comforts that he previously had set up, thinking I would take a NICE LONG NAP. By the end of the day yesterday, I think he'd had it with the whole process because he kept asking me "are you sure you need the foot up on that recliner" I knew it had gotten more serious when he said "AREN'T YOU DUE FOR MORE MEDICATION??"