Whoever made up that “no more than you can handle” rule clearly hasn’t been hanging out in my life. Hard to believe it was only last Thursday that Cute Guy’s silence was the biggest thing going on. The week following New Year’s Eve had been conspicuously quiet so I’d casually (20 minutes to compose a 3 liner!) sms’d a “what’s up?” type message, hit send, squared my shoulders and resolved to stop obsessing regardless of the reply. Very well adjusted of me. Until he sent a breezy “back in town on the 11th, lets get together” response. Yay! So not avoiding me then, just on holiday! Not 30 seconds later I was on the phone to Kate, all giddy and glee. No bloody wonder Fate hunted for a spanner, how tempting was I?!
With Cute Guy insecurities happily resolved, I got down to the serious business of pretending I wasn’t really back at work. Which is why Dylan and I were watching Robert Downey Jnr play rather perfectly off a yummy Jude Law on that otherwise ordinary Thursday evening. And then my tongue went numb.
I put it down to having over-salted the popcorn for like the zillionth time, a skill I’ve never mastered despite a whole ton of practice. It wasn’t until after the movie, once Dylan had launched into an animated discussion about the possibility of having our own Sherlock Holmes English Bulldog (to be named Humphrey Hubert Engelbert Gladstone the Fifth, apparently) that he suddenly paused mid sentence and stared at me. “Your eye’s stopped blinking,” he announced in surprise.
And so began my Bells Palsy Blues. Rather like a bad case of déjà vu. Having done this whole virus-attacks-facial-nerve-and-freezes-half-your-face dance before. Last time I froze three days before my 21st. Week after next, I turn 33. For as big a birthday lover as me, I find it strange to be struck with a stress influenced illness so close to a top favourite day. Twice. There may be a therapy story in there somewhere.
Dylan was two last time I had Bells so remembers nothing of it. He’s wildly jealous, convinced it’s the coolest thing ever. Which has everything to do with my looking alarmingly like Two Face from Batman whenever I grin. Despite assuring him it’s not contagious, he’s taken to inhaling deeply whenever I’m near. I suspect he’s imagining tiny Two Face germs dancing in the air around me.
As of yesterday Cute Guy’s back, talk about salt in the wound. No way I’m meeting up looking like this. No matter how much his, “I’m back!” sms makes half my face smile.