Frog Queen’s hand: update

I drove Her Royal Frogness to the clinic yesterday evening to see the surgeon who operated on her carpal tunnel syndrome-inflicted right hand.

An hour and a half wait thanks to a receptionist, Madame Bitchface, who detests my wife (the feeling is mutual) and who somehow slipped her down the waiting order. It would have been longer if the surgeon hadn’t spotted the FQ quietly reading her Michael Connelly detective thriller in the waiting room.

The surgeon inspected the Frog Queen’s flipper and pronounced it good although the stitches are to remain for the moment. She’ll be going back to work on Monday although she must be careful not to overdo it.

Back to work. Phew, that means I’ll get a rest from being Monsieur Dogsbody. As she hasn’t been able to lift anything remotely heavy with her right hand, I’ve been on hand, so to speak, to be her right-hand man; her handyman, if you like. So, a jar needs unscrewing: a task for Dumdad; bowl to be reached from top shelf: I come running. Etc etc.

We went to the supermarket this morning (yippee) and I had to push the trolley. I didn’t mind that as I usually shop on my own but her “shopping experience” is a far cry from mine.

For a start, I usually spend half an hour or so browsing in the wine section, contemplating my options and will the trolley be able to take the load? Not this time. It was a quick grab of some reds and we were on our way.

Suddenly, the supermarket seemed a foreign land and a slightly scary place as the Frog Queen ordered me onwards. Where are we? I asked tremulously as I looked around me and up and down the aisle.

“The fruit and veg section,” replies the FQ.

Travel broadens the mind, I suppose.

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