4:38 in the morning. Creeeeak. Rustle. Rustle.
Ah, Maxine’s up! A little earlier than her usual, of late, but as we well know, not unheard of. The rustle, rustle means she’s disposing of her bathroom waste. Could that mean she’s already been successful with her bowels moving so soon?
I’m sorry, readers. We become so sophisticated as soon as we leave fifth grade, don’t we?
Holding my breath, and hoping she’ll head back to bed for a few, I hear what has become a very familiar sound. An even greater rustle and loud (sounding) dropping of crisp, large chips into her favorite bowl; yes, she’s up for the day. This is the earliest I’m aware of. Prior, it had been 5:45 AM. I’m talking about how early she has started “snacking”.
Pardon my umbrage – I warned you about it earlier. This is the woman who’s been coaxed, pled with, encouraged, wheedled, begged, did I say coaxed?, bribed (huh?) and cajoled in the sense of the Urban Dictionary definition Urban Dictionary: cajoled to force someone into doing something they don’t really want to do, into eating any meal or snack of substance. Until you’ve spent 10 months trying it, I’m guessing it doesn’t sound like much, and maybe, it’s just me.
Try this on for size, though. This woman has complained of not having an appetite (still does) numerous times and for the last month or so has been ordering Sun Chips by the case. I know she can go through three bags plus in a single day.
What’s my beef? Hey, they’re wheat, right? And she’s eating, and she’s putting on weight, right? Indeed! Yes, to all.
I’ve probably never mentioned how Maxine is with pain. I’ve been called to her side many times because she’s never thrown up “like this before”, or had diarrhea like this before, “never, ever” or had such a terrible headache, “I wish I was dead, this is not living”. Pain is not her forte.
And, seriously, this is not a novel. Surely, I needn’t apply descriptive words, pictures and arrows to the movement of cases of any kind of chips, let alone an outsized multi-grain variety into, and then stutteringly, stop and goingly, through a digestive track, hampered by, oh, I bet I haven’t told you this, two titanium rods acting as the spine in that area. Oops, my bad. No wonder you had remained nonplussed. Have you ever been “bound up”, intestinally?
Do you really think you could do what I do, with a whole lot less whining? I think so, too. Get over here.