My afternoon went something like this:
Hey, May, here you are at home with the day off work. What are you going to do? Study for your possibly-going-back-to-University interview on Friday? Good May.
Yes, I know the studying is boring. Carry on. Oh, OK, you can have a cup of tea. Why are you staring into the fridge? That chocolate mousse left over from yesterday? No, you can’t eat it. You know very well dairy gives you eczema. And aren’t you supposed to be losing weight? And then there was that theory of yours that eating sweet stuff made the permanent bleeding thing worse? You say you were joking? But remember, it got worse over Christmas when you were eating cake and sweets? What do you mean, ‘bah humbug’?
Have a pear. Nice pear.
Uh, May, the pears are on top of the fridge? May? What are you doing?
Put the teaspoon down right now! Now! Oh, damn and blast, you’ve eaten half of it already. Fine. You do that then. You eat sugary, creamy mousse. Was it nice? Was it worth it? What do you mean, ‘mmm, chocolatey?’
Three hours later, I started to bleed heavily again.
And to put the cherry on the black forest gateau, I noticed (and by ‘noticed’. I mean leapt up with a yelp and ran screaming to the bathroom) the onset of bleeding while reading a sweet and heart-warming email from my uncle announcing the birth of his third child.