6:36 p.m. - 2008-11-11
Flapjack Attack
Twinkles was smitten by a particularly virulent cold virus last week and had to take a couple of days off work. I was on holiday and therefore on hand to play nurse to my grumpy paramour. I reckon his illness was brought on by bad karma because he can�t stand me being off work when he isn�t. He hates having a cold, well let�s face it no one actually LIKES having one. He totally refuses to be stoical; �the grin and bear it and take Lemsip till it eases� school of thought is not one he embraces. To his mind God and The Government should outlaw colds, as they�re an infringement of his personal human rights.
He wanted antibiotics. He knows as well as I do that doctors do not give antibiotics for colds because they are useless against viruses. He still demanded an appointment with the doctor, a house visit preferably as he was too sick to get out of bed. Doctors barely take time out to visit the dying at home these days never mind anyone with a cold. I told him to stop fussing and just accept that there was no miracle cure for the common cold (insert stern expression and wagging finger) The best remedy was rest. He launched straight into slave driver mode. I had to plump his pillows, tuck him up when he got the cold shivers and un-tuck him when he got the hot flushes. He wanted water, lucozade, paracetamol, cough medicine, strepsils, tea, and non-stop sympathy. I mopped his brow, rubbed his back, massaged his temples, read to him and even peeled him the proverbial grape. I also de-seeded it seeing as I was the silly man that had popped seeded grapes into the shopping trolley instead of the seedless variety we usually buy. I was doomed to de-pip and peel.
Just as it seemed he was winning the battle against the cold virus it rallied and unleashed the ultimate in germ warfare: an attack of herpes or harpies as Twinks calls them. One cold sore would have been bad enough, but it seemed like an entire battalion of the evil creatures colonised his lower lip. He was distraught, unclean, a leper, disfigured, he�d never be able to wear red siren lipstick ever again, not with crusty lips and it was my frigging fault. He�d noticed that one of the cups I�d brought him a drink in had a crack in the rim. The harpy germ had probably been hiding in the crack just waiting for a lip to burrow into. I knew I�d get the blame somewhere along the line. I got him various things from the chemist, but nothing really helped, they just had to run their course. I did feel sorry for him, because they are painful little devils. I couldn�t even buy him a box of his favourite chocolates to cheer him up because his mouth was too sore and even talking made his lip crack and bleed. However, though he wasn�t very happy about how painful they were, his main concern, being a vain little queen, was how unsightly they were. I managed to persuade him that they didn�t look anywhere near as bad as he seemed to think they looked.
And then Jason arrived on Friday evening. It was our weekend to have him. He usually greets us with a hug and a kiss and I duly got mine. I then could have strangled him as with typical teenage insensitivity he refused to even hug Twinkles in case he caught his (pointing with horrified expression on his face) �FLAPJACK LIPS.�
Well, if looks could kill there�d be one less teenage transvestite in the world today. He�d shot himself in the foot though. Usually he loves to watch Twinks get ready to go out on a Friday and Saturday night, and it�s an ideal opportunity for him to experiment with wigs, makeup, jewellery and clothes. Twinkles huffily stated that not only was he not feeling well enough to go out, he wasn�t feeling well enough to sit around helping a schoolboy tranny plaster himself in makeup. Jason said he didn�t need a supervisor he could manage on his own. Twinkles said he didn�t trust him enough to leave him alone with HIS precious things. Jason wasn�t too suited and my counsel was sought. I had a quiet word with my man and said it wouldn�t hurt to let �his sister� have a bit of a play, maybe with some of his older makeup and clothes. Twinkles was adamant and refused to even consider letting Jason touch so much as a dried out mascara wand.
It was not the most peaceful of evenings. Twinkles finally lost his rag and hurled a copy of �Hello� magazine at Jason, but only after Jason had again called him flapjack lips, pus pout and toasty oat flake face. I plucked �Hello� from Jason�s hands before he could hurl it back at Twinks and used it to indicate which direction I wanted him to take, i.e. the stairs straight up to bed, no television and lights out. When he�d obeyed (Oh You!) I said �Hello� to Twinkle�s backside a couple of times and then poured myself a very large glass of cold white wine, mixed him a strong cocktail and provided him with a fancy straw to drink it through before slamming on a DVD and demanding my right to have a relaxing evening.
The rest of the weekend was better. Twinks and Jason called a truce and played nicely together. Gabby came over bringing little Alice with her for a couple of hours. We went to mum�s for lunch on Sunday and that was pleasant. Jason made Twinkles happy by giving him a big hug when he left for home on Sunday evening and telling him that he loved him, which really pleased him. I decided that he deserved the fiver pocket money I�d withheld after all and slipped it to him. Of course he had to spoil himself as he got to Val�s car by waving and shouting to Twinks, �I hope your soggy oaty bits drop off soon.� I was pleased to see Val�s hand make swift contact with his cheeky backside.
Twinks is back at work and so am I. His lips are still a bit sore but seem well on their way to being able to deliver one of his gorgeous smiles. Judging from the scratchy feeling in my throat I suspect I�m next in line for a viral attack.
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