We were in the pool, splashing around with the kids who were trying to avoid all the insects I hadn’t managed to scoop out yet – which is my way of having ‘fun’ while we swim.
“Bruce,” exclaimed Tracey, glaring daggers at the base of my neck, “don’t move!”
Like that was ever going to happen.
It’s like when someone starts a sentence with ‘don’t look now but-‘. Despite having no idea where this sentence would end up your head is going full Exorcist before they got to the word but.
I slapped my neck so hard if the edge of my palm didn’t strike my collarbones I reckon I’d have collapsed my windpipe.
Following this with a series of swiping motions to remove whatever the hell it was I just killed, I glanced back at Tracey for some sort of visual clue bee/wasp/snake/really big ant was dead and I would live.
Instead, she was not only still worriedly frowning at the same spot, she was reaching out a hand towards me.
I froze after dropping my chin half an inch to try see what she was dealing with.
Instead of a swipe or a slap, there was suddenly a prod, then a pinch. My chin was effectively on my chest at this point as I tried to follow the action.
“Your neck is swollen,” she said, withdrawing her hand without releasing, and so roughly pulling a great lump my neck skin towards her. “You better get that looked at. It wasn’t there last week.”
“You bitch,” I said, lifting my head and giving her the same sort of cheeky grin the wench was giving me.
“Oh, wait,” she exclaimed again, only with surprise this time. She was back to prodding my throat. “It’s gone now.”
My dear wife was subtly suggesting I need to drop a few kilo in the lead up to Christmas lunch.
Tonight I’m going to tell her I think her boobies are bigger.
Raising a family on little more than laughs