The eldest was showing us photos of his tongue piercing recovery progress during dinner last night. They were gross … really, really gross. He’s been photographing the healing process daily and I didn’t see much improvement on day five, although he’s finally managing firmer foods after a steady diet of Weet-Bix.
Two new plastic piercing bars have also been ordered over the internet, as the current metal one risks damaging his teeth. One is pink with sparkles and the other has a little capsule perched on top of it instead of a metal ball, so the wearer looks like they have a pill on their tongue.
Brave new world.
On the subject of grossness, I love that people try to make me feel better about my habit of over-sharing – following yesterday’s ear syringing tale – by telling me their out-there stories.
A blog follower informed me yesterday that she’d only been going out with her partner for six months when he had to give her an enema (for medical reasons, not some kinky sex fetish). She’d just had a major operation and was in agony due to severe constipation afterwards, so he dutifully trudged to the chemist to obtain the necessary equipment and went to work.
Now that’s love.
Much as he adores me, I am pretty sure DD would outsource that task.
Oh, and here’s some advice to anyone having an operation:
>> Go easy on the Endone afterwards or you may find yourself in a similar situation to my blog follower.
>> If you go hard on the Endone, a suppository may be a (slightly) less ignominious solution.
Actually, maybe just skip the Endone entirely and ask for Targin instead.
Song of the day: Crowded House “That’s what I call love”