It was 5.45 am on a very cold morning.
And it was my day off!
Aaaaargh! And I was up at 5.45 am!
Ok, so I needed to go pee, but ...
Usually I can go to the loo in the middle of the night by memory. With my eyes closed and still in semi-sleep-mode I can find my way to the bathroom, aim and 'destroy the evidence' without the aid of a light.
But on this particular morning, I awoke to a bladder that seemed to be about ready to burst, so the zombie-trot was out of the question.
I was in a rush!
All my senses responded to the pressure of what seemed to be several gallons of pee waiting to exit my body via the 'hosepipe'.
It was as if a switch had been flipped and my tired, much in need of sleep body had been transformed from a tired little Fiat 500 to a Ferrari 458.
Long story short; I was awake!
Having spent what felt like fifteen minutes in the bathroom playing at being a fireman, I went downstairs.
Clover, our dog, was pleased to see me and began to bounce up and down the hallway, her tail wagging in a circular motion. Once she had my attention she made a dash for the back door, which I opened, and she disappeared into the darkness to take care of her own pressing problems.
Some ten minutes later Clover came back looking a lot more laid back and relaxed. She made a bee-line for the living room and her big, soft cushion by the radiator. She was snoring in a matter of minutes.
I was awake!
Telling you why I was awake wasn't strictly necessary because all I wanted to say was that on that cold, very cold, morning when I was awake at 5.45 am, I decided to empty the kitchen waste bin.
So there I was ... in dressing gown and slippers ... and I decided to empty the kitchen waste bin and put throw it into the bin outside.
So, trash bag in hand, I stepped out though the back door.
At this point I should have been paying a little bit more attention. If I had been, the quiet crackcrackcrackcrack noise emanating from beneath my right foot as it hit the patio paving slab would have stopped my in my tracks.
But, momentum being what it is, I continued my movement through the doorway and my left foot also landed on the patio.
Momentum was still the villain here and, once again ignoring the noise beneath my feet, I continued my march towards the outside dustbin.
This time though, it was my bare foot landed on the frosty slab of concrete. My slipper was frozen in the spot where it had landed.
I hopped ....
my foot was freezing
... right out of my second slipper, which had also frozen to the slab, and for several seconds I 'danced' on ice with bare feet.
I was only two or three feet from the safety of the kitchen, but for some reason I seemed incapable of steering myself through the door.
By the time I managed to hit the laminate floor of the kitchen I had lost several small patches of skin from my feet.
Pieces of my skin, along with my slippers, were still attached to the thin layer of ice that covered the patio.
And my feet were sore!
The has to be a moral to this story ... somewhere!
If you spot it, let me know!
About This Blog
This blog was originally started as a thread on the forum pages of an animal rescue site. Now it's here!
The articles you find in here are purely for entertainment (yours and mine) and (with one or two exceptions) are all tongue-in-cheek chronicles of the World (my bit, anyway) as I see it.
No disrespect is intended towards anyone unless I make a mistake and make it too obvious.
I hope you enjoy my offerings. Feedback and comments of any kind are welcome.
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