Damage report

As predicted, the weekend wasn’t without incident.

The hot water service went on the blink on Saturday night and I tripped on the door sausage as I went outside to fix it, twisting my foot.

I was NOT happy to have a dodgy hot water service, a twisted foot AND the mystery rash that’s taken up permanent residence across my back and upper arms.

Give me a break, universe.

Fortunately, the old “switch it off and on again” trick worked and I enjoyed a hot shower on Sunday morning, after wincing through my customary three walks of the day.

On the subject of damage, the youngest was mad keen to paint her bedroom over the weekend. I was madly not keen and said my only contribution would be the paint. That may have been a tactical error, as somehow my favourite pair of leggings that were hanging out the back now have paint on them from the equipment clean up afterwards, I have no idea how … and my kitchen step-stool looks like it belongs in the back of a house painter’s van.

But, hey, I didn’t have to clean or paint the room, so I’m regarding it as a win.

There’s been a little mental injury as well. Having constantly itchy skin, hot flushes and various other aches and pains has left me feeling anxious about both my health and encroaching old age.

I was telling my friend Alice on our walk yesterday that I’m not thrilled that both the world and my hair are a little greyer than I’d like.

This COVID-19 situation is so sucky. It will be years before the world returns to some semblance of normality and I’ll be in my mid to late 50s by then.

I don’t like it. I want to go back to being in my late 40s in a world that’s not in the grip of a pandemic.

But, as Mick Jagger crooned: “You can’t always get what you want … but you get what you need.”

And last night delivered on the need front. DD and I decided to have a dress-up date night.

So I popped into David Jones for the first time in forever to pick up some stockings to wear with heels and a skirt.

it was surreal on so many levels, from Mrs Slocum spraying everyone with hand sanitizer at the entrance, to the Aladdin’s cave inside, filled with jeweled clothes no one needs in home iso, to the bloke in the hi-viz vest who was manning the lingerie counter and popped my purchase into a plastic bag.

The vest perturbed me, is it a COVID measure? At first glance I thought he was there to fix something, so it was a bit unsettling when he started scanning intimate items, much like when a teenage checkout boy swipes your pads and Brazilian wax at Woolies.

As for dinner, DD went for a French theme – Bollinger and cassoulet. It felt – and tasted –  so delicious and fancy. It was very special and lovely.

I’m a sucker for a man in a suit with a casserole dish and bubbles.

Suddenly, all of my complaining felt a little hollow.

How’s your iso fever going?

Song of the day: Rolling Stones “You can’t always get what you want”