"Hello, Grandma!" Steph greeted me as I hobbled downstairs this morning to see him off to work.
I'm sure I kept him awake last night with all my moaning. Everytime I moved a little, I was rewarded with a sharp pain in the neck. It was so bad that this morning, before Steph went downstairs, he checked my back to make sure I hadn't bruised it. There was no bruise, but the muscles across the top of my back and my right shoulder are so swollen, he could feel them.
Steph actually suggested I call a doctor. This from the man who never goes to the doctor, "because then he'll tell me that I'm sick. If I don't go, then I'm fine." Pfft. Men. But no, I'm sure I'll be fine in a few days, but I did decide to go to the pharmacy to get something for the pain. I came home with a French version of Ben Gay. I haven't tried it yet, because I didn't want to smell like, well, Ben Gay while running errands in Troyes this afternoon. Right now, I'm waiting for Steph to come home so he can administer it. I feel like a junkie waiting for my dealer.
Now if only my fairy godmother would arrive and wave her magic wand around the apartment, so I wouldn't feel so guilty about being in too much pain to scrub the floors.