Just freak enough

There's an army of people in white and black clothing downstairs, stacking plates and carrying boxes filled with mysterious things. Ingredients? Wine? I'm dressed in pajama pants and a t-shirt, hiding from them in my room with Marc, who's asleep, and Happy, who's whining softly at me from the bed. Marc arrived at the house 10 minutes ago with an inflamed gash in his nose given to him by the Mexican puppy, Tia, who he was watching in the morning. I gave him Bactroban and a pain pill, and now he's collapsed on my freshly made bed and gone to sleep. Which is good, because I'd like him to feel half-decent in two hours time, when people start arriving and whatever's in those boxes downstairs is unpacked and ripe for the pickin'.

Getting a post-Pilates latte this morning, I scalded my left hand quite badly when the lid of my paper cup popped off unexpectedly in the middle of Java Hut. My hand turned bright red (not thankfully, white or runny) and I ran to the bathroom to soak it in cold water, but it was occupied.

So I played it cool in the hallway outside, swearing and blowing on my hand for a few minutes before getting a little impatient and knocking on the door, just to make it clear, in case the swearing and tortured moans weren't enough, that somebody needed to use the bathroom. In response to my knock, a cheerful male voice called out Just a minute!

And I continued to wait. For five minutes. The pain in my hand got worse. What was this guy doing in there? Shaving? Sponge bathing? Shooting up and blacking out? Another five minutes passed. I actually started sniffling a little bit, not to say crying, you know, but getting myself ready to cry for when my friendly stranger's bathroom odyssey would hit the 15 minute mark. FINALLY he comes out, SMILING at me, and hands me the key. I gave him a watery look, clutching my hot pink hand to my stomach as if he'd just threatened to bite it, and ran into the bathroom to slap wet paper towels onto my knuckles. And hiss.

As I left, I made sure to give him a lot of time to see my crudely swathed hand, dripping water and, unfortunately for the point I was trying to make, looking pretty well normal underneath. It still hurt like a bitch though. It really did.

P.S. Gloomy bear arrived.