Happy Birthday To Me

Where was I? Oh, yes. Menstruating. It’s OK, folks. Despite the Mighty Bosoms, I didn’t feel that weird ‘I think I might be pregnant’ feeling that has, in my case at least, so often proved to be right. So, when my temperature dropped and I started feeling crampy right on cue, I was pissed off, but I wasn’t surprised. Just, pissed off. It’d’ve been nice to be wrong.

Anyway, the MIL was still with us, and we found that the museum we wanted to go to was shut on Mondays, naturally, so we went for a walk instead and had lunch out (at the crappy cafe, because MIL thought the nice cafe looked expensive, but the crappy cafe charged us exactly the same as the nice cafe would’ve. Appearances can be deceiving. Hmph). Then H took MIL to the station and I had a lie-down and some strong NSAIDs and a cup of tea. Owie uterus. Ow.

In the evening, as a birthday treat, H took me out to dinner and then to a concert we’d managed to get really cheap, really good tickets for because I have Friends in High Places. I took some codeine, and let the music run away with me. I was even floating on the drum-beats (that may have been the codeine). Alas, the happy family behind us were not in raptures about the music, and felt the need to talk jovially throughout, for the ‘if I wanted to listen to three teenagers gossiping with their mother I’d’ve sat on the top deck of a bus all evening’ experience. They had to leave early to catch a train, and missed the best bit of the entire concert ah hah hah hah karma is a bitch.

Tuesday was my birthday. It went like this. Wake up, take non-throw-up-able pain-killers, feel unGodly awful, take codeine, throw codeine straight back up, take more, lie in bed for an hour or more wondering why the bastard pills aren’t working, throw up again, realise they didn’t work because I hadn’t digested them at all, take the other painkillers via non-throw-up route, feel so miserable there’s an interval in which I lie half-naked on the living-room carpet with my washing-up bowl, whimpering while H rubs my back and looks worried, go back to bed, throw up con brio, take more codeine, at last it bloody works, doze off. At some point H gave me a selection of birthday cards and gifts to open, which was no doubt very nice indeed, but I wasn’t really in the best state of mind to be overjoyed by my goodies. As birthdays go, it was shit.

Wednesday was much better. I felt tired and woozy and much as if I’d been worked over with a selection of truncheons, but I could get up and eat soup and watch TV in a feeble, inattentive way. I think I may have… blogged?

Unfortunately, I was attentive enough to notice that a rather large crowd of tiny brown moths were staggering about near my yarn stash. I moved it aside and discovered a hole, an actual hole, in my best rug. I lifted the corner and found a mother-load of moth cocoons.

I used Bad Language.

Thursday, in which we were supposed to be on holiday, amusing ourselves with the sights and feeding me cake at regular intervals. Instead, we spent it moving furniture, sorting out all my yarn stash, binning things, hoovering things, wrapping things in plastic, putting a great deal of wool in the freezer, hoovering again, liberally dousing the place in repellants, feeling very much repelled ourselves whenever we found a wee white maggotty caterpillar chewing a hole in a cardigan, finding a bald patch on the fitted carpet as well as the rug, shrieking with rage, hoovering again, and so on, all this with me still on Volterol and codeine and A Tad Under The Weather. We have installed cedar balls in every seemingly unaffected bag of yarn, washed all the woolly jumpers, put moth traps in every corner, and H is dissuading me from running back to the hard-ware store and buying, variously, insecticide, napalm, Agent Orange, and thermo-nuclear warheads.

Fucking moths. I spend my evenings killing the fuckers one by one at the moment.

Meanwhile, HFF has been bravely, nobly, with a stiff upper lip that’d be the envy of Lord Uxbridge, Marquess of Anglesey, going through utter hell. Fucking bastard Universe.


23 responses to “Happy Birthday To Me

  • bionicbrooklynite

    oh.god. moths. we had an infestation so bad that dealing with it was all we did with our leisure time for months and months. friends thought we might have moved. it was like that. had the revolting worm encounter many more times than once. never got less gross.

    shudder. so good that you caught yours early. (the truth is, i grew up in such a…laid-back household and in such a buggy climate that i thought the moths i saw were meal worms and that i’d get around to cleaning the cupboards someday…. (i meant that bit about being a lousy housekeeper. just can’t bring myself to give a damn.)

    enough about arthropods. continue to be sorry your “friend” continues to be such a raging bitch. it strikes me to be somewhat surprised that the codeine works for you. i take it for migraine (and sadly know the sight of an undigested tablet returned to sender) but have always found it completely useless for endo stuff, except as a way to get high enough that the pain seems like it’s happening to someone else.

    • bionicbrooklynite

      damn that hanging parenthesis.



    • May

      I must emphasise that codeine ONLY works at all if I take it along with the volterol (diclofenac) suppositories. On its own? Nada. And then, one must digest the blasted tablets as well. But yes, I am lucky that I metabolise codeine well. Genetic thing. Your mileage may vary.

  • minichessemouse

    soluble co-codamol was my bestest friend before my body went and gotted addicted to it.

    Also *shudder* moths, i’m sure my mum had flour moths a couple of times. NOT FUN! *shudder*

    • May

      I always feel nervous on day three of codeine. Am I overdoing it? Am I? Am I? Luckily I get several weeks off before I need it again. I think if I needed it every week I’d be DOOMED.

      • minichessemouse

        trust me it took a good 8 months of 3-4 times daily almost every day for the addiction to establish itself. Wish i had something stronger than paracetamol for this dammned toothache though.

  • a

    Well that does not sound like a suitable birthday (aside from the concert, maybe). Next year will be much better.

    Sorry to hear about moths – that sounds horrible. I’d be spraying insecticide everywhere!

    • May

      H is very anti spraying our home with killing substances. Technically, so am I, but THEY ATE MY CARPET. The battle continues.

      Next year, I shall ask for dinner somewhere fancy, jewellry, and a marching band playing ‘Brown-Eyed Girl’.

  • Illanare

    I think you should do your birthday over again next week as you were most certainly robbed.

  • Valery

    I’m in denial about moths. Doesn’t that work?
    So sorry….

  • Womb For Improvement

    It’d sound sarcastic in the extreme to wish birthday felicitations on you. So I echo Illanare’s suggestion that you should have a second one at a less painful time.

    • May

      Ta muchly. I wonder if I could wangle another one next week, and then maybe a third in July, and a special extra positively-last one in September? Hmmm.

  • Korechronicles

    I second, third and fourth the Bastardry that is moths. At Villa Kore the clothing variety have destroyed Boy Genius’s very expensive suit jacket and I recently opened a forgotten plastic pantry container of muesli bars to find entire metropolis of the pantry variety established therein. Have also used napalm and thermonuclear warheads in the past to clearly, NO BLOODY AVAIL.

    However, the aforementioned, wonderful, stoic, hounded by the Universe HFF, sent me one of those tennis racquet bug zappers for Christmas last year after I saw her in action with one at Hairy Towers. The zap is immensely satisfying, the toasting of unsuspecting moth is immediate and complete. I have not seen one of the miserable buggers for weeks as the word has spread to the wider moth community by Bush Telegraph. And my backhand has improved mightily. Win-win!

    • May

      I want a bug zapper. I am sending H out on a mission for one tomorrow.

      • Amy P

        I’ve only used them on houseflies, but they are very satisfying to use.

        Starts to stink after awhile, though–like burnt hair. I guess burnt chitin and burnt keratin are close enough that we can’t tell the difference.

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    I am currently strewing mothballs about like confetti, and swatting furiously at the clouds of little fluttery buggers that are infesting every fabric we own. Have never had the Zapper to hand, sadly, as it needs to be concealed from small, curious, questing hands. Maybe if I threw a mothball really hard and accurately, I’d take one down instantly…

    You are awfully flattering with the comparisons! If I lost a leg, I think I would be asking for the sock full of sand, pronto!

    • bionicbrooklynite

      i’ve gotten much better at catching them by hand. and the cats think we’ve finally matured: now if one of us sees a flutter, we immediately stop all conversation, etc., and stare, creep, and pounce. sometimes we suddenly rise and attack spots on the walls that have been there for years. the cats glow with pride.

    • May

      Oh, God. It’s a Biblical Plague, it really is. Damn it all to hell.

  • Carole

    A second birthday is clearly required here, like the Queen. In fact, do it exactly like the Queen and go for June 6th!

    Oh God, moths. NOW I’m worried. For a couple of months, the other half has been obsessed with the fact that we always seem to have a single very small moth fluttering about, no matter how many he kills. Only ever one, but a constantly re-incarnating one. My reaction has been “Mmmm?” (non-commital noise pretending to be expressing mild interest, but actually expressing total disinterest) at the frequent husbandly moth-related laments. But what if this is a sign of something sinister happening in a soft furnishing somewhere? Does this mean I have to look (and clean)? Urggh! Oh, and read earlier in one of the papers that the invasion is total and stocks of cedar balls are running short. So you are at least ahead of the game…

  • g

    I’ve never had the Moth Thing. They sell the stuff in the supermarket so obviously I am just living in ignorant bliss until some day…..(munch, munch, munch).

    As for the pain thing- we get so funny about Rx’ing morphine that we instead give a drug that we know is only a pro-drug that is about 10 percent converted into the real stuff for it’s action AND that is variable depending on your own genetics. It’s basically a way of giving an unknown piss-poor amount of morphine and that’s why it does stuff all alone. Personally, I give small amounts of actual known doses of real opioid to my patients if decent NSAIDS + paracetamol don’t do it alone.

    Happy birthday, dear May,



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