Matron finally got around to reassembling me after my head relocation issues earlier this week. Now, I’m normally a huge fan of Matron’s surgery skills, but it wasn’t long before I had my suspicions that things hadn’t gone quite according to plan.
My pink and yellow pills didn’t cause my ears to shrink anymore.
*Feeling of dread building up in pit of stomach*
So after 37 minutes my ears had reached the size of a small Labrador. Those extra pinner dimensions were significantly amplifying sounds – like the rattle of my pills in their tubs. That made pill selection nigh on impossible, so it was unsurprising when I couldn’t pick out my green knobbly nodules. So of course, then my elbows started foaming. I’d need to sort that out sharpish because the last time that happened I almost drowned.
Panicking now, I had to think quickly.
…or… I could forgo the thinking and just trust to my inner Flibble voice. After all, thinking takes time and effort, neither of which I had.
It took a further 3 hours and twenty-seven minutes for my inner Flibble voice to say anything. Apparently, as my voice later explained, it had been taking part in a sponsored mime. *sigh* The advice? 3 shots of weak lemon drink and some of the vintage maroon lead paint from 1972.
Worked like a charm.
All systems back online and purring like a rabid Siamese.
Splendid.