Normal service has been resumed - bood was 6.8 this morning. Oddly, Ma wasnted me to test hers too, and she came out at 6.3, despite never having been diagnosed as Diabetic in any way. I offered to make it three for three, but d said "I'm not letting you stab me with that thing, I'm already in pain."
"A simple 'not this morning dear, I have a headache' wouldn've done, honey," I weak-ass-joked as Ma and I set off into what were actively sub-zero temperatures for our walk.
When we'd done the thing which isn't Twyn Hill (which I've subsequently learned is called Alma Row. I mentioned to d that I'd never remember that, and her suggestion bore all the hallmarks of Desperate Housewives addiction: "Just think of it as "Orson's mad first wife's row," she suggested, in all apparent seriousness. Cos that's easier to remember...), neither Ma nor I could breathe. The world went all spangly and sparkly - the cold was actually making it harder to breathe than normal, or so it felt.
"Maybe..." gasped Ma, "...if this bloody snow, frost....thing keeps up...we should go...a different...way."
I nodded, saving my breath to make all the pretty stars go away.
"But," said Ma as she began to be able to speak in sentences again, "we can't just be fair weather walkers..."
We're not. We're going again tomorrow morning, then I have the gym at 11.30 with my uncle. Who knew - making it a family affair was good for discipline. Maybe it's that old adage at work: the family that suffers and sweats and gasps and bitches at the world together, stays together.
That's how it goes, right?
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