Thursday, 3 May 2012
In a league of my own...
The Sweetpea often has to travel to other parts of the country to do locums when there are not enough obstetricians to cover, and occasionally, we get to go with him. It is a time of not having to worry about keeping the house clean and tidy, because they put us up in a motel, which, although not the lap of luxury, is still a great deal better than having to clean up after five messy people.
We usually go away for the weekend, and because there are very rarely any call-outs for the Sweetpea, it ends up being a luxuriously relaxing family weekend away in a little-known part of the country.
Well, mostly relaxing. The Sweetpea had to do a ward round early on the Saturday morning, so I chose to get up late (about eight - wow!!!) and spent a wonderful thirty whole minutes in the bath getting all steamy and relaxed. To fully understand this story, it is vital that you know that the motel room we stay in is actually a suite, with two bedrooms both opening off a central bathroom, a small lounge-dining room, and a tiny kitchen - all you could actually need, really. The main bedroom looks over the South Park, a lovely flat grassy stretch where people walk their dogs and kids can play. On the Saturday in question, I lazed in the bath, and reluctantly decided that it was time to emerge. I felt around on the bathroom sink for my glasses (I am really short-sighted without them) but couldn't seem to locate them anywhere, so eventually gave up and strolled naked (come on - like you've never done it!) into the bedroom to get dressed. After taking a leisurely look in my suitcase and eventually deciding on an outfit for the day, I took my time getting dressed, and as I was putting on my jersey, the glasses fell out of the pocket. "Yay, found them," I thought, as I put them on. My joy was extremely short-lived. As soon as I put them on, I realised that while I had been in the bathroom, the boys had taken the opportunity to open the curtains of the bedroom. Nice and wide. And now I had a lovely view of the park, where about 150 small kiddies were playing soccer, with an assortment of fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, grannies and grandpas and the coaches of six Little Dribbler league clubs looking on. Even more distressing, they also had a wonderful view of me. And had been having a wonderful view of me for my entire naked promenade from bath to room, my reverse-strip routine, and my eventual mortification when I discovered this vital fact.
The Sweetpea had by this time returned from the hospital and was standing in the lounge looking out of the window onto the melee of Little Dribblers running around screeching and kicking outside. "Wow," he called to me, "it's like a free-for-all out there!"
"Yes," I thought sadly to myself, considering all the spectators outside my bedroom window, "in more ways than one, Sweetpea, in more ways than one."