I read an article that said stress during menopause triggers Alzheimer’s … so I tried to stay calm yesterday … but it was difficult because I went to a family counselling session about the rat.
I’m not sure the psychologist had ever held a family counselling session about a rat before. He appeared quite bemused by the situation and not entirely sure what his role – if any – should be.
Despite the vast expense involved, very little progress was made during the counselling session. At least not on the rat front. I gave my two bob’s worth on a few other matters, which elevated my heart rate, due to my deep aversion to conflict.
My ex reiterated that the rodent was never crossing his doorstep again. He’s still recovering from the night the eldest left a pile of dried pasta in the secret cage for the secret rat to not-so-secretly snack on.
The eldest promptly fell asleep. in that like-the-dead way teenagers do, while my ex and SSF lay awake all night, wondering what the hell the weird “crunch, crunch, crunch … crunch, crunch, crunch” noise was.
I think I’ll skip the second rat counselling session, which has been organised for later this month. Perhaps SSF can attend in my place?
I was a little strung out after the hour of high emotion.
Fortunately, I’d stopped by Dan Murphy’s earlier in the week to grab a four-pack of mini Minchinbury Brut bottles ($13.99 – the poor single mum’s best friend).
I headed straight to the fridge when we got home to toast the rat taking up permanent residence.
Unfortunately, I remembered the Alzheimer’s article said alcohol was another factor in the development of the disease.
Fortunately, I was cooking salmon for dinner. Salmon is an excellent source of Omega 3 oils, which the article said help combat Alzheimer’s.
Do you think the two cancelled each other out?
Just to be sure, I ate a few dried apricots, as they were also on the anti-Alzheimer’s list.
I think it’s an excellent sign that I can remember so many important details from the Alzheimer’s article, don’t you?
After mainlining my Minchinbury Brut, I texted my ex and offered a free counselling session – run by me – over the weekend. I’m keen to get the eldest back over to his place, even if it means I’m left to feed the rodent while they’re gone. I think I can just about manage that, but there’s no way on this earth I’m touching it.
The day took a second unhappy turn when DD texted to say he’d missed his connecting flight to Sydney.
I was VERY upset by the news. Though not nearly as upset as stranded DD, who’d been led to believe he might just make his next flight if he ran through LAX like a lunatic.
Nah, United Airlines was just joshing. There was nada chance of that happening. But they had lots of fun watching him and 10 other frantic connecting passengers give it a red hot go.
A puffed and very cross DD returned to the United desk to try and find a new way home.
He’s heading to Sydney via San Francisco this morning, which means I’ll have to wait a whole extra day to get him back in the country.
After he told me THAT, I blew all the good work I’d done with my anti-Alzheimer’s dinner by popping another mini bottle of Minchinbury, with a splash of Chambord, since it was dessert and all.
Song of the day: Iggy Azalea “Fancy”