Spa Kidney

Sumatran tigress licking her nose Richard III is being laid to restJosephine Tey would be happy, I think. I remember reading The Daughter of Time years ago and being stunned. Don’t get me wrong, Shakespeare’s play is fucking amazeballs, but he was writing while questions of legitimacy swirled around a current Tudor monarch, so he couldn’t quite tell the truth–even if the truth was known to him, which is by no means likely.

Anyway, I’m very pleased. Historical rehabilitations always please me.

This morning I got the kids to school and decided to treat myself to a clay masque, a la Spa Day At Home. I smeared the clay concoction on and sallied out of my loo, only to be assaulted by a barking bulldog who thought I had done something to his beloved human. Also, there was an Aussie who had no idea why the damn bulldog was so upset, but was determined to find out AND remind him that if there was going to be a shitfit thrown, SHE was going to do it first, thank you very much, and also, what was that strange thing on her human’s face?

The result of this was a furry ball of two-dog destruction nailing me right in the shins, which drove me back against the loo doorknob, which speared me unerringly in the right kidney. I let out a strangled yelp, and Trundles, driven into fresh excitement by the fact that he could hear his beloved human in distress, redoubled his attempts to head-butt the strange-faced thing that had taken her place. Miss B, of course, got him by a hind leg and dragged him down, and she proceeded to lick every part of him she could reach while I stumbled back into the loo proper, my back spasming and my face working in interesting contortions that no doubt added to my, ahem, exotic appearance. I grabbed at the towel rack to steady myself, and it’s a wonder I didn’t pull it free of the wall.

Trundles snapped at Miss B, who snapped back, and the two of them rolled out into my bedroom, then raced around the house a bit while I hobbled, wincing, for the kitchen. By the time they had sorted out who was in charge (it’s Miss B, ever and always, but Odd keeps on having to be reminded every time something New and Disturbing wipes his hard drive clean) Trundles had forgotten what upset him in the first place, and simply rested his face against my calves as I stood at the sink, drinking water and trying to regain my breath. He paid no further attention to the masque, since Miss B had reached the kitchen first and was unfazed by the new thread to my familiar smell.

Spa day at home, folks. Rest, relaxation, and kidney trauma.

Have a good Monday. I’ve got to limp into the kitchen again for more tea, and get started on revisions…