Sunday we painted the utility room and kitchen. This involved the very clumsy tora on top of a step ladder painting all the edges (it is called cutting in, I guess). I was doing pretty good until I moved the foot of my ladder a little too close to the hole in the floor where the dryer vent normally would be. I wobbled on the ladder a little too much and BAM!! I was on the floor, still trying to figure out what had just happened.
The foot of the ladder had lurched into the vent hole, and I went flying backwards off the ladder. I hit the dryer with my ribs and head on the way down, I twisted my left ankle in the side of the ladder, and the other shin was bruised hitting the other side of the ladder. I clawed for purchase during my fall and managed to pull the cat food bowl on top of myself as well. My paint cup left a large puddle of cream-colored paint in the floor next to me, and somehow my ponytail tip had been dipped in said cream-colored paint.
N had been painting the kitchen when I fell, and He hollered out “Are you okay in there?”
“I don’t know yet.” I grumped. “Ask me in five minutes when I figure out what just happened.”
It took me a while to gather my wits, so He came wandering in, confused as to why I hadn’t come out or starting bitching. To His eternal credit, He didn’t laugh when confronted with the image of me sitting with my legs tangled in the ladder, in a puddle of paint, cat food all over me, stuck in the corner. He helped me get out from the ladder’s death grip, gave me the stuff to clean up the paint and let me lick my wounds (figuratively!) from the safety of the desk. After I had soothed my wounded pride I went back to painting, but with a sprained ankle. He was nice enough to do all the stuff that required a ladder. 😀
Monday I had my top right wisdom tooth pulled out. The oral surgeon was kind enough to allow for IV sedation, so I was out for the actual extraction. My dad gave me a ride home, and I stumbled in, looking like Charlie Sheen after a bender (without the anger). N steered me down the stairs to our bedroom and I crawled under the blankets immediately and slept the rest of the stupor off. He finished painting, cleaned the floors in the rooms, put the knickknacks and appliances back, made the kids lunch, worked on the new washer/dryer stand and check on me. I crawled upstairs sometime after lunch and laid on the couch, staring at the tv when not drifting into a druggie-trance. He helped me take my pain meds and did the dishes for me. I got up to start supper and got everything three-quarters of the way done, but after that I had to lay back down again because I was dizzy and started to get a migraine. He finished supper, fed the kids, cleaned them up, and put them to bed, while I laid on the couch and drifted in and out again. After that He went back outside to work on His woodworking projects again. I started to feel really unpleasant, so I crawled back down the stairs and fell asleep clutching my collar. He came in and covered me up, making sure I felt okay before going to bed.
Everyone seems to think that O/p is all about the Owner being remote, cold, barking orders and getting blowjobs (or the equivalent for female Owners). Especially with regards to N, who can seem a bit aloof to those that don’t know Him. I felt so cared for, so princess-y, so secure in that He will take care of me when I am ill and not hate me for it, not feel put upon, not resent the sudden dependence on Him for my usual role.
I love You, for taking care of me and doing it with a smile on Your face.