This morning I went to the hospital. Not, as Boyfriend likes to believe, for a psychological assessment, but to see a physiotherapist about this annoying back pain I get at night. It’s very dull, and not mentioned in the rest of the story I promise.
Now I love listening to other people’s conversations, and the hospital is ideal for a spot of eavesdropping, as everyone gets fooled by the fake privacy of having a curtain pulled round them. It’s a bit like when very small children play hide and seek and just stand in the middle of the room with their eyes covered, thinking that no one can see them.
While I was changing into some sexy hospital shorts, ready to be poked and prodded, a man came into the cubical next to mine. He couldn’t see me in my pants but I could certainly hear him. I didn’t see him before or after, so have no idea what he looked like, but within minutes I had painted a wonderful picture of him in my head.
“So,” said the physiotherapist, “what do you do for a living?”
“Well it’s funny,” said the man, in a voice which for some reason immediately made me picture him with a beard, “but I’m actually redundant at the moment.”
(Is that funny? I guess you have to laugh.)
“OK,” she continued, “and how long have you had a problem with your back?”
“Well,” said the bearded, unemployed man, “I’ve had niggles with it for a few years now, but I think it may have been triggered by one particular event.”
“Well, I was at home, and had just come out of the shower,” beard man began. “My wife and children where downstairs, and I was upstairs getting dry.”
My shorts were on by this stage, so I just perched on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, waiting for my physiotherapist to come back and listening.
“I went to the top of the stairs,” he said, “and did a sort of provocative dance.”
Silence from the other side of the curtain.
“I had pants on and everything,” he added, although I was doubtful.
“I must still have been a bit wet, and my feet sort of slipped from underneath me and I fell down the stairs.”
It was at this point that I laughed a little bit.
Thank goodness he couldn’t hear me though – I was behind the curtain.