The Town Fart has returned. Boy wanders around in a permanent stink cloud, like Pigpen from the Charlie Brown comics. Gary kindly informed me that at the Masons meeting there was a long roiling tumultuous expulsion from many rear ends when they stepped outside to have a break from the Illuminati World Domination Dance Of The Exalted Plutonian Reptile (during which any farting is punishable by smiting). Gary tries to be a gentleman and leaps suddenly out of bed to fart on the other side of the room, which is disconcerting, but I did say that I would wait until he was asleep and then slowly stuff the entire sleeping bag up his ass if he ever farted against my leg in the night. This always brings on a lot of sniggering until we remember we are middle-aged grown up people and then cough a bit & try to look mature.
Things aren't much more civilised at work, where the sewage pump is slowly choking to death on frog corpses. Soon we will have to resort to tying large garbage bags around our clients for toileting and wash them down with the garden hose in the driveway. One of my daily jobs is helping Greta have a shower, which is hazardous enough without having blocked drains to deal with. I emerge each time with soaking wet feet & legs, but at least Greta is clean and dry once we're done.
Helping another person shower and get dressed is a lot harder than you would think. Is there anything they could slip on? Have they got their balance? Where's the soap? How do I squirt soap on to a facewasher and hand it to them while holding the shower nozzle over them in the right place and also trying not to get soaking wet myself, with just two hands? (Three is recommended). Do they have any cuts, bruises, sores, prolapsed rectums or other tender areas? Can they reach their own feet, crutch and bum? Are those lice, or what? Whatever you do, don't hand your client the shower nozzle, unless you and the adjoining room also need a shower.
Greta laughs, sings and giggles while we're having a shower. I get a big "Woooo! Aaaah heh heh heh" when we wash her bum. Then I dry her off and we sing The Hair Brushing Song ("lamalamalalalalama ... eeee hee hee"), which to the untrained ear sounds a lot like the Putting On The Shoes song. Today when she saw me arrive at work she came up to have a big cuddle together which was really great.
On a more sinister bodily function note, Gary and I have developed this weird restless leg thing when we sleep at his place. I googled it, which was a mistake, as it came up with "mysterious neurological disorder" and other creepy facts so we decided to blame the giant plasma TV instead. I am convinced it is giving off freaky electromagnetic rays while we sleep, and because our legs are the closest thing, they get all charged up and start moving around by themselves. Maybe we need to drink more scotch before we turn off the TV. Valium would be great, but drooling semi-conscious at work in the morning is frowned upon.
I've forced the dogs to sleep outside - Honey snores and barks in her sleep, and Boy wakes up every couple of hours or so to lick his balls with horrid gross wet shlurping noises, then woofs in my face at random times to see if maybe it's time to go drive around in the bus.
My motorcycle helmet and our sleeping bags arrived today; Gary has two dirt bikes and we're hoping to take them camping with us soon for a bit of bush exploring. I wonder if they make very small motorbike helmets for cats?
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