I had a call from the husband yesterday afternoon telling me that he was on his way home. As this was around 3.00, this caused the old alarm bells to ring.
'Are you ok?' I asked him.
Taking a deep breath, he told me that he was just leaving a hospital in London having had his head stitched. ('Nine stitches, they put in my head. NINE STITCHES!') Further interrogation revealed that he had head-butted a scaffold pole. Well I was suitably concerned, naturally, and asked all the relevant questions, as to how bad it was and did he have concussion, but he was adamant that he had been the go ahead to drive, so I waited patiently for my wounded soldier to come home.
What I wasn't expecting to walk through the front door an hour later was someone looking like an extra from Gandhi. Whoever had bandaged the top of his head had been a little over exuberant, even going so far as to add a useful chin strap.
I'm not proud of what happened next, but I did try to control myself. Unfortunately, I only lasted half a minute, at which point, I started to giggle, eventually reaching such a crescendo of laughter that I laid my head in my hands on the kitchen work top and just gave my mirth free rein. Every time he said to me that 'it wasn't funny', that set me off again, and just as I managed to get it all under control, he told me that they'd shaved part of his head.
Now those of you who know my beloved husband, will know that he is particularly challenged in the follicle area, and only Saturday he went to have his hair 'cut'. It's just as well, as the shaved part won't be so noticeable I guess. But then I noticed the best bit. Standing up next to him, I put a comforting arm around his shoulders, and asked him if he'd like a cup of tea.
Glancing down at his bandaged head, I then had the misfortune to notice the 3" unbandaged circle on the top of his head. What hair was left stuck out at right angles (it reminded me that my legs needed shaving, if you know what I mean) and I suggested to the husband that if he left the bandage on, and let that grow, then by the winter he would have a very unique style of bobble hat.
As you can imagine, this didn't go down too well, especially as I was now laughing uncontrollably again.
Gathering myself together, I took a look at the tablets which the doctor had sent him home with. 'How many do I have to take?' he asked pitifully. Well, I was now on a roll, so I said to him that they needed to be taken 'three times a day'. 'With food?' he asked. 'Oh it doesn't matter if you've eaten or not, these tablets aren't taken orally'.
When the penny finally dropped, his little cheeks went nearly as white as the bandage.
'I'll do the morning and evening ones for you', I said helpfully, 'but how well do you know your work colleagues for the lunchtime one?'
It seemed a shame to spoil my fun, but I had to come clean in the end, and he was most relieved to know that he wouldn't be needing to take a pair of Marigolds into work tomorrow.