5:10 am, somewhere in central California: our intrepid heroine is snuggled under the comforter with her cat-kids, blissfully sleeping to the sounds of purring & gentle rain falling on the roof.
Suddenly, a voice pierces through the veil of slumber-
“Uh, Meg, could you give me a hand?”
As she attempts to pry her eyelids open, the first conscious thought is:
“Go away- I don’t have to get up yet!”
followed swiftly by:
“Who turned the *&^%$#@! bedroom light on?”
Slowly, as her vision begins to clear, the face of her beloved husband comes into focus, peering at her from about a foot away (third conscious thought “I certainly hope he’s brushed his teeth already!”) It takes only a split second to realize something is different- there are strange shadows along his neck & chest…the side of his head seems to be wrapped in a red striped towel…only they don’t have any red striped towels…
Fully awake now, she pops straight up, smacking foreheads with her ever-lovin’; once the virtual meteor shower dies down, he explains that he nicked his earlobe while shaving in the shower (without a mirror- big twit) & can’t seem to stem the flow long enough to get a bandage on it.
Okay then- her devoted spouse requires first aid- no problem.
Well, except one small thing- hardly worth mentioning.
Meg doesn’t do blood.
Boom-boom, out-go-the-lights time; really not dignified at all.
But, a loved one is in need, so into the fray she goes.
She follows him into the bathroom, lays out all the supplies on the counter, & turns to face the patient; he removes the bloodstained washcloth from his ear & she begins to wash away the bright red marks covering his neck & shoulder, when blood begins to ooze again, dripping on her hand.
All of a sudden, there are stars sparkling in her peripheral vision & the sound of buzzing hornets in her head; seeing her visibly paled countenance, her better half slaps a wad of tissues to his head, yells for the young son-and-heir to haul tuckus in here, & leads her quickly back to the bedroom, suggests that she might want to lay down for a minute. Their son, remembering his first aid course, advises that her feet need to be raised above the heart, but there aren’t enough pillows, so…
5:25 am finds the lady of the house arranged at the foot of the bed, feet propped on the blanket chest & the comforter draped across her form, while the cats stare in a confused fashion & her men folk are in the bathroom, patching up Dad’s ear & doing their level best not to giggle.
The Queen is not amused.