Wuff with the Smooth: Eau de vie

I’ve been suffering from a sore back of late and it’s a real pain in the… well, back.

Whilst I know fine well that this discomfiture is a direct result of my sitting on my fat arse from one end of the day to the next, I like to pretend otherwise.

“I know exactly why my back is broke!” I complain to the fambly. “My back is broke carting to you lot about round the clock. Cooking, making lunches, chasing that ruddy dog… it’s only a wonder my back has held out this long.”

But, like my first girlfriend’s love, my mockrage inclines towards the deciduous.

The end-result of these persisting back pains though – apart from working from home the odd day to save on the embarrassment of cramping around the office like Methuselah’s aul boy – is that I sometimes wind up in the spare room at night, so that I can cramp around the bed like Methuselah’s aul boy. I find that I have to toss and turn for a while, turning the night air blue, before finally falling into a fitful sleep where I experience bizarrely vivid dreams.

Prior to the back pains and cramping around the spare room, Herself would have acted as supervisor for my less-than-good habits. For example, when books have piled up on my side of the bed, she’ll advise tidying them up before I trip over them and when half empty pint glasses of water begin to pose an even greater trip hazard, she’ll kindly inform me that these need to be removed to the dishwasher.

In the spare room however, no such advice is forthcoming and so, until last week, a veritable city skyline of half-filled pint glasses as well as a bookish totem-pole had sprouted up beside the bed.

Even with a sore back, I indulged myself with a wry smile when I first noticed this development, although I wasn’t smiling for long.

Sometimes, although this is the exception to the rule, there’ll be a glass of water bedside the bed which was filled the previous night but which wasn’t consumed. On those occasions when I’m already abed and I remember that I forgot to bring a new glass, I’ll make do with the stale water – which doesn’t taste great but which does the trick when I wake in the wee hours.

Remember I said I hadn’t been smiling for long? Enter the Waffle.

A salutary lesson arrived during the week when I happened to mention that drinking the day-old, stale water isn’t much craic, even when it’s the middle of the night and even when you’re trying to drink with your eyes closed in a bid to stay asleep.

“You mean you don’t get fresh water every night?” Herself qualified.

“Most nights I do,” I replied. “Just not last night. Why?”

I could tell from the look on her face that something was awry. It was a look which sat half way between disgusted and frightened.

Surely leaving my glass un-replenished with fresh water and thus drinking stale water wouldn’t be overly damaging to my health.

Maybe there would be a few dust motes therein. Maybe the hydration qualities were somehow diminished – certainly it didn’t taste like some eau de vie from the Garden of Eden.

“Why?” I insisted.

“I chased Waffle out of the room yesterday morning after I noticed him lapping out of the glass,” she said.

Talk about poor hydration qualities!

Athough I stopped short of thinking where that mouth of his has been – because I know exactly where it’s been – lapping at his rear end.

I’m away to brush my teeth.