Turkey, with eye drops

I have to share something very important with you. Trust me, you never know when you might need this one.  Here are my top five thoughts to think about if you just happen to be getting wheeled backwards into an operating theatre and want something to occupy or distract your attention. 

1. Why are white chocolate chip cookies invariably more soggy in the middle than regular chocolate chip cookies?  2.  Who is DonaldTrump’s hairstylist? 3. Pink jacket and orange shirt combo, fashion triumph or potential iaughing stock? 4. Why do Japanese fisherman find rare and beautiful sea creatures then have an overwhelming compulsion to bludgeon them to death?  5. Is it unethical to be sexually attracted to your anaesthetist?  Just to explain number five in a bit more detail.  Mine was called Pavel.  He comes from Poland.  He seemed a really bright and interesting guy.  He did have great hands.  In fact if any of you ever need an injection in your eyeball I’d say he is your go to guy.  

Christmas was naturally a complete blur.  Guido and I  take a diplomatic approach to sharing time between our parents each year.  Last year we went to my parents for Christmas.  Dining there is like eating in a monastic refectory.  The pickings are slim.  I remember looking down at the pile of bones on my plate and thinking a dingo must have already come for supper.  So, fortunately we went to Rosa and Juan’s this year.  They’ve never heard of the expression less is more.  

When we arrived in their kitchen on Christmas morning I felt just like Mr Magoo did.  I could almost make out the profile of  their two little bodies and a frighteningly large dark matter on the work top.

“Ez the turkee,” said Juan.  That isn’t a typo it’s the way he talks.  The turkey was the size of a Fiat 500.  “Ez 18 lbs,” said Juan.  I let my fingers fumble their way round the minute dimensions of Rosa and Juan’s oven door.  It felt like the opening on a letter box. 

“It’ll never fit,” I said.  

“Eet weel feet,” said Rosa.  That isn’t a typo either it’s the way she talks.  “Eef dee Romans can build the Colliseum then we can roast theez turkee.”

“Fine,” I said, “then all we’ll need are 5000 pagan slaves to help us out and it’ll be cooked before the Queen’s speech.”

Six hours later I was feeling more stuffed than that poor bird.  Rosa poured coffee and got out the fortune cookies.  I cracked mine in half and handed the little strip of paper inside it to Guido to read out.  

“You Will Marry A Very Rich Man,”  he said frowning.  That was probably being optimistic as I know Guido’s bank balance hovers around zero.

Back home in bed I lay there with chronic indigestion.

“Does it bother you that I’m not rich?” he asked.  I fleetingly visualised myself having hot sex in a sunken marble bath with gold taps and an unidentifiable  Russian oligarch.    

“Of course not,” I said, “money can’t buy you love.”  

But listen, any millionaires out there who can bake a decent souffle, and are remotely interested in a guy with temporarily having vision in only one eye, be aware, you could jump directly to second in line in my marital queue.



19 thoughts on “Turkey, with eye drops

  1. What you did not learn the lingo of your in-laws? and you want to marry their first born?! Horrendous I say. Being in the UK I fancied you would do goose for Xmas. Happy New Year and very best wishes to you both in 2016!


  2. Entertaining, as always. I like pink and orange as a combo. Not that I particularly like pink, despite the fact that I find it almost everywhere; in my wardrobe, bedroom, drawings and in more places than I would like.

    I can feel your pain with the turkey situation. I ordered, rather stupidly, an 8 kg turkey, fortunately it turned out to be around the 7kg mark but even so, it took up the whole top oven in the Aga. I’m grateful that my deadlifting skills were honed but not grateful that my shoulder was mostly fucked. Can I say that word?

    Liked by 1 person

  3. First of all- Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you both. To answer your question regarding who is Donald Trump’s hairstylist, that’s just it,,,he doesn’t have one. Are you kidding? He just lifts that rugs off at night and places on a head form. And yes dear, give pavel my number…I could use a injection.


  4. I was pleased as punch to see you posting again. However these cosmic questions are too much for me at the end of a long weekend. However in my medical experience anaesthetists are a vain lot who would take umbrage if you did not find them attractive.


  5. Hey no, you already have a man, you don’t get to try for another (especially a rich one) until I get one.
    You are using stock photos? That’s like false advertising, now when you blog about being together I am going to have this image in my head of a gorilla kissing a troll. Not that trolls and gorillas don’t need a little love as well.


  6. 3. Pink jacket and orange shirt combo, fashion triumph or potential laughing stock? There is so much potential in this question! I might have to do a whole post on it. Where is combo being worn: Dallas, Texas or New Orleans? Occasion: Summer wedding in the Hamptons or funeral anywhere? Style: Buttoned properly with navy slacks or worn levis and navy blue vans (no socks) or unbuttoned to the sternum (overly hairy chest exposed), 4 or 5 gold plated rings on fingers and patent leather shoes?


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