Yes, there are two of them. I have my husband, His Majesty, and Little Brother. Both are overwhelmingly Chinese as I have had proven to me time and time again. I used to think it a slightly romantic gesture when I’d get to the airport a little early to pick His Majesty up when he’d fly in for a weekend, wait for him (back when you could wait at the gate), and be there smiling when he’d get off the plane. Oh, no. He’d take one look at me and start with “Why didn’t you wait in the car? Parking costs money. Now I’m going to have to get into a (warm or cold) car when it’s (hot or freezing) outside. Think it through next time, would you?”

Yes, the gweilo (white man) lives to serve, or so I’m told it states in my contract, the same contract I’m not allowed to read.

Now, it’s a rarity when I hurt myself. I did get a hernia 4 years ago and His Majesty insisted he fly in to “help” me that weekend. He felt slightly responsible since I hurt myself working on a project for us. However, his support and bedside manner were sorely lacking. I can say this because he never reads these posts. Well, once a year will he read a post, only this won’t be one of them. Anyway, I got up yesterday morning, headed outside, and cut the front hedges. So far, so good. And then my luck changed.

I stopped by my neighbor’s house for a moment, inquired about borrowing the lawnmower, and, as I was leaving, their son pulled in and began unloading some boxes. I offered to help. My neighbors are awesome people, and they’re constantly doing things for everybody around them. So I picked a box up, and carried it downstairs. Unfortunately, I slipped the last two stairs and landed in a bit of a heap at the bottom.

The end result could have been so much worse. It really could have. It still better not be, but it could have been. I stood up, walked it off, and limped back outside. My intention was to finish the side hedges and mow the lawn. Unfortunately, I noticed a bulge along the side of my sock and when I lowered the sock, got a good look at the swelling.

I don’t believe there’s anything broken. I can walk on my foot. Turning it is a little tender, but nothing I would normally think twice about. I put the tools from doing the hedges away, and walked inside. His Majesty was on a Skype call with a friend, and seemed annoyed when I mentioned I needed his assistance. The help is not supposed to require help. The help is to BE the help. This is also in the contract.

Assisting me included a long lecture about my being close to fifty years old in a little over three years, not being a spring chicken, and that the neighbor’s son is far younger and capable as I have just proven. I don’t require sympathy, but perhaps a better bedside manner might have been nice. I texted Little Brother and told him what happened. He claims to be a “feeling” Asian versus His Majesty, so imagine my surprise when he texted this little gem back:

“You see. When you over do. This is what happened.
How many stairs?”

How many stairs… This question is shades of the Grandmonster when, last year, her daughter slid down our stairs and when I told her what happened, she asked not if her daughter was okay, but rather “How many stairs?”

Next lifetime? I’m dating someone Vietnamese. Or Japanese. Or Korean. Or Thai.

Views: 23

Comment by koshersalaami on May 8, 2017 at 3:31pm

That kind of practicality can get pretty cold. 

Comment by Kage Alan on May 8, 2017 at 4:10pm

That it can.

Comment by Phyllis on May 8, 2017 at 5:45pm

Perhaps he should read this post. I hope your ankle heals well.

Comment by Kage Alan on May 8, 2017 at 6:13pm

Naa. He means well.


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