ADRIENNE'S HIV BLOG – Hivine's Weblog

HIVINE is written by HIV positive women but still with a sense of humour

Pull the Other One

 

pull-pull                                     

 

Woke up this morning and as it’s that time of year when one is automatically programmed to start thinking about summer holidays and travelling to foreign climes I decided to do something about my expanding trunk. Not talking luggage here – but baggage i.e. the kind that is permanently strapped around my waist thanks to the meds in the form of body fat, as opposed to a body bag, which would come in much more useful as I could keep my money in it – or is a body bag something you keep a corpse in? Maybe I mean a bum bag, which would come in even more useful as it could double up for my lack of bottom, which the meds have redistributed for some reason best known to themselves around my trunk.

 

I got out of bed and decided I would try some light exercise in an attempt to get my waistline back in shape, like touching my toes for example, and guess what?  I could actually touch them. Admittedly, I fell over because of the vertigo – but hey, I’m used to that. At first I was ecstatic, then the thought suddenly struck me – oh no, it’s because my legs have got shorter. This didn’t happen overnight I hasten to add, I knew it was happening because recently I’ve had to keep shortening my jeans or turning them up. But now there was no further doubt about it, I was definitely shrinking at a rate of knots, so I immediately got on the internet and checked for sites with information about shrinking leg syndrome and also for diets or exercises to reduce the waistline- preferably sitting down ones so I wouldn’t keep keeling over.

 

“Think you have too much junk in your trunk,” proclaimed one site advertising swimwear for a store in Wyckoff. Yes, Wykcoff as opposed to Fykcoff.

 

Well, I did as it happened, my trunk was definitely packed to its limits and the junk was probably in the form of the odd MacDonald’s I have indulged in from time to time (too many times probably) with my son.

 

As for the legs – one yoga website advised that the best time to stretch your back and your bones and your legs presumably without doing any damage was when you wake up first thing in the morning whilst you were still lying in bed. So I got back in bed (any excuse) and lay there doing the equivalent of the hokey cokey trying to stretch my legs and make them a bit longer by pulling on imaginary strings tied to my toes.

 

Is this what is meant by the expression having your leg pulled, or toeing the line, or pull the other one it’s got bells on – no, don’t be silly, that was just my alarm clock going off.

 

You put your left leg in

Your left leg out

In out in out and shake it all about

Knees bent arms stretched

Raa raa raa

 

The Italians apparently call it the hoky poky – say no more. At least I was doing it alone in my bed and not in a conga! 

 

Feeling depressed about ‘shorty’ legs all day, but then wore them down even more by walking round  ‘Camelot’ a local theme park, accompanying son for a job induction as a go cart attendant.

 

Camelot – sounds like that posh women’s joke about Max Factor.

 

Max Factor? Did he?

Camelot? Did she?

 

As they perform regular medieval enactments throughout the summer at Camelot, I thought I could possibly get in on the act so to speak and apply for job as a serving wench, or even a court jester. According to wikipedia, a jester, joker, fool, buffoon or bollocks (now steady on wikipedia, jester minute, I know you must get fed up of people asking you questions, but there is no need to be rude) is a type of entertainer who wore brightly coloured clothing in a motley way. Well, I certainly fitted that criteria and I could soon weave my thinning locks into hundreds of tiny old ladies plaits and attach bells to the end. But it seemed all the jester posts were already taken.

 

Maybe I could be a knight in drag I suggested? The Moody Blues were always droning on about knights in white satin, weren’t they, although I always thought knights wore chain mail. It would have been fun to be a knight, although I couldn’t really see myself in chain mail, but in my role as an HIV activist I could have done some sexual health awareness raising and HIV prevention whilst I was at it for the visiting groups of schoolchildren by incorporating the old playground rhyme.

 

In days of old when knights were bold

And condoms weren’t invented

They stuck a sock upon their ****

And HIV was prevented

 

Oh, in days of old indeed, before HIV reared its ugly head and women wore chastity belts, men were more courteous and knights were expected to follow the code of chivalry and courtly love – or is that a film star?

 

The first rule of chivalry and courtly love is as follows –

 

“Thou shalt keep thyself chaste for the sake of her who thou lovest”

 

Forsooth, if only the men folk of today could be persuaded to abideth by those same strict values of fidelity as they held back in the middle ages. Although if I’d of had my choice, I would have opted for a younger knight myself, rather than a middle aged one.

 

Cowboys it seems also had trouble with unfaithful wenches, or cowgirls, at least according to Roy Rogers the singing cowboy and most famous cowboy of them all. In his song, ‘A four legged friend’, he advises his fellow cowboys to forget all about women and get a dog instead, or maybe he was singing about his horse Trigger.

 

A woman’s like cactus and cactus can hurt

Cause she’s just a tight waisted winky eyed flirt

But a four legged friend a four legged friend

He’ll never let you down

He’s honest and faithful right up to the end

That wonderful one two three four legged friend

 

Tight waisted? Huh, that particular cowgirl obviously wasn’t on the meds, although the winky eye sounds a bit suspicious and can also be a side effect of the medication – as can a shot of red eye.

 

At least I hadn’t grown any extra legs; I think four would be overdoing it, even for Roy Rogers. The touchy subject of legs came up yet again as my son and I meandered round the Easter Fair and when we passed the stall where the folk all had their heads down playing Bingo, the caller suddenly yelled out  – ‘Legs Eleven.’

Was he talking about me?

 

Apparently, you can play something called ‘Posh Bingo’ now, which they keep advertising on the telly. But I think it’s aimed at those upper class women who ‘Camelot’ and past conquests of that rampant Max fellow. You can also play ‘Virgin Bingo’ for girls who obviously didn’t have it ‘orf’ with Max, as well as Elvis Bingo, Kiss my Bingo and Sharon’s as in Osbourne’s Bingo. But you have to be careful not to develop Bingo wings, which is a known syndrome of the game – as is legs eleven.

 

I heard recently on the news that daffodils contain a compound that helps with the alleviation of memory loss symptoms for patients with Alzheimer’s. I remember visiting a friend in hospital who had recently come round after being in coma for many months and when I presented him with a bunch of daffodils, he ate them. He must have known.

 

Did you know that human’s share 35 per cent of their DNA with daffodils? At least according to one particular website where they proclaim –

 

“You’re one-third daffodil” this and other REALLY useless facts from Britain’s most upmarket intellectuals.

 

Pull the other one – it’s got blue bells on.

 

Well, I’m just off to have a number 3 – that’s a cup of tea in Bingo terms and maybe I’ll grab a bunch of juicy daffodils out of the garden to put in my salad so I will be able to keep my wits about me the next time I’m playing Bingo, either posh or otherwise and not become a number twenty eight, overweight, or a number 8 – one fat lady, or worse still, an 87 – a fat lady with a crutch.

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