Day 157
Like some horrible Nostradamus-like premonition, something I mentioned yesterday in the most light-hearted way became reality today.
For those of you who are a little queasy I humbly suggest you might be better off skipping this entry and possibly even deleting it altogether.
The reasoning behind this request will become evident all too quickly.
Ever since I dragged myself out of bed this morning I was feeling a sharp stabbing pain in a location directly north of my knees, slightly south of my spine and west from the back of my underpants.
In other words: right up my butt crack.
Sitting down was getting more and more uncomfortable as the day progressed with the pain level increasing every time I tried to alleviate it by clenching my cheeks together. The wife showed a certain degree of concern in between bouts of laughter and decided the best course of action was to discover the problem first hand, as it were.
I didn’t want a repeat performance of the recent visit to my doctor’s, but then again I wasn’t especially thrilled by the idea of being prodded around by an enthusiastic amateur either, and definitely not by the wife.
I eventually complied, but on the sole proviso she kept any examination entirely visual.
I’ll refrain from giving you a precise description of what happened suffice to say it involved me bending over with my trousers around my ankles and Mrs. Snowman kneeling down behind me with her head on a level with my rear end and peering intently into what amounted to a hairy cave.
Dear God it was tempting to…never mind.
Anyway, Mrs. Snowman gleefully announced I had a “…touch of piles” and scuttled off to the chemist to get some ointment. Although thankful for the imminent relief, to obtain it involved another cause for personal trepidation.
Now, you’ll have to believe me, I don’t usually spend a great deal of time with my finger anywhere near this particular part of my anatomy (with the exception of the kidney stone treatment that I’ve tried to remove from my memory) so applying the cream wasn’t exactly something I was looking forward to.
However, after a couple of stiff drinks to steady my hands and a couple of hard swallows in anticipation of the impending nastiness, I slowly wandered to the bathroom in order to quietly stick a finger up my bottom.
After opening the tube, I faced another problem. Whoever designed the packaging for the medication must also have a part-time job writing comedy scripts for The Simpsons.
The printed instructions helpfully suggested the best method was to gently squeeze the bottom of the tube, put a small dollop on the end of your finger and apply to the offending area.
This is impossible.
Even the slightest amount of pressure on the tube ensured the contents escaped like a tapeworm, and once it started, it simply wouldn’t stop.
Rather than a small blob it was oozing out like the contents of a fresh cream sponge cake after a badly timed bite. With my arse cheek in one hand and the tube in the other I had no option but to smear more and more of it on myself.
Needless to say it solved the problem, not least because that amount of medication would have alleviated the haemorrhoids of a fully grown hippopotamus.
I played two games of poker feeling like I’d soiled my underwear.
Quite obviously this didn’t put me in an ideal frame of mind to play cards so you’ll be surprised to learn I qualified in one of the freerolls for Sunday’s final.
I’m not entirely sure how I managed it but I’ll be waiting with baited loins for the game to start. The other game was less of a triumph and I lasted about twenty minutes before I went all-in with 8-9 suited. Maybe the pile ointment was affecting my cerebellum.
Tomorrow I might put some on the keyboard before I start the game…messy but potentially fruitful.
I intend to be particularly careful with any future writing in case my unintentional predictions become true again.
More specifically I shall be keeping any thoughts about my penis completely to myself…just in case.
However, approaching this theory from another angle maybe I should put in writing
something I noticed this evening; the current Mrs. Snowman’s vocal chords were sounding a little frayed.
I live in hope…
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0.75
For those of you who are a little queasy I humbly suggest you might be better off skipping this entry and possibly even deleting it altogether.
The reasoning behind this request will become evident all too quickly.
Ever since I dragged myself out of bed this morning I was feeling a sharp stabbing pain in a location directly north of my knees, slightly south of my spine and west from the back of my underpants.
In other words: right up my butt crack.
Sitting down was getting more and more uncomfortable as the day progressed with the pain level increasing every time I tried to alleviate it by clenching my cheeks together. The wife showed a certain degree of concern in between bouts of laughter and decided the best course of action was to discover the problem first hand, as it were.
I didn’t want a repeat performance of the recent visit to my doctor’s, but then again I wasn’t especially thrilled by the idea of being prodded around by an enthusiastic amateur either, and definitely not by the wife.
I eventually complied, but on the sole proviso she kept any examination entirely visual.
I’ll refrain from giving you a precise description of what happened suffice to say it involved me bending over with my trousers around my ankles and Mrs. Snowman kneeling down behind me with her head on a level with my rear end and peering intently into what amounted to a hairy cave.
Dear God it was tempting to…never mind.
Anyway, Mrs. Snowman gleefully announced I had a “…touch of piles” and scuttled off to the chemist to get some ointment. Although thankful for the imminent relief, to obtain it involved another cause for personal trepidation.
Now, you’ll have to believe me, I don’t usually spend a great deal of time with my finger anywhere near this particular part of my anatomy (with the exception of the kidney stone treatment that I’ve tried to remove from my memory) so applying the cream wasn’t exactly something I was looking forward to.
However, after a couple of stiff drinks to steady my hands and a couple of hard swallows in anticipation of the impending nastiness, I slowly wandered to the bathroom in order to quietly stick a finger up my bottom.
After opening the tube, I faced another problem. Whoever designed the packaging for the medication must also have a part-time job writing comedy scripts for The Simpsons.
The printed instructions helpfully suggested the best method was to gently squeeze the bottom of the tube, put a small dollop on the end of your finger and apply to the offending area.
This is impossible.
Even the slightest amount of pressure on the tube ensured the contents escaped like a tapeworm, and once it started, it simply wouldn’t stop.
Rather than a small blob it was oozing out like the contents of a fresh cream sponge cake after a badly timed bite. With my arse cheek in one hand and the tube in the other I had no option but to smear more and more of it on myself.
Needless to say it solved the problem, not least because that amount of medication would have alleviated the haemorrhoids of a fully grown hippopotamus.
I played two games of poker feeling like I’d soiled my underwear.
Quite obviously this didn’t put me in an ideal frame of mind to play cards so you’ll be surprised to learn I qualified in one of the freerolls for Sunday’s final.
I’m not entirely sure how I managed it but I’ll be waiting with baited loins for the game to start. The other game was less of a triumph and I lasted about twenty minutes before I went all-in with 8-9 suited. Maybe the pile ointment was affecting my cerebellum.
Tomorrow I might put some on the keyboard before I start the game…messy but potentially fruitful.
I intend to be particularly careful with any future writing in case my unintentional predictions become true again.
More specifically I shall be keeping any thoughts about my penis completely to myself…just in case.
However, approaching this theory from another angle maybe I should put in writing
something I noticed this evening; the current Mrs. Snowman’s vocal chords were sounding a little frayed.
I live in hope…
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0.75