My good friend Wetsoks has managed to do something awful to her lower back over the past day or so, and has been in agony. This seems to spike drastically every time she laughs, which is unfortunate because she's been around me daily and we have a multitude of hilarious in-jokes.
Wetsoks: You know this pain in my back? Well, I think it might be a new kind of pain.
Me: How can you tell?
Wetsoks: There's no word I can think of that describes it properly. It's not stabbing. It's not shooting or prickling or throbbing. The closest I've come to finding an apt description was 'informal misery' as suggested by Google.
Me: Huh. I wonder how you upgrade from 'informal misery' to 'formal misery'.
Wetsoks: It's not the kind of pain where you want to cry, either. I mean, if I stabbed you, you'd cry, right?
Me: I'd cry if you sent me a strongly worded email.
There was a brief silence. All I could hear was the frantic tapping of keys.
Me: Don't send me a strongly worded email!
Wetsoks: Too late, buddy. Anyway, I meant to say earlier, because I thought you'd like this - there's a butchers in Edinburgh who now apparently stock some odd things - crocodile meat, zebra, kangaroo and so forth. I saw it on the way home from work.
Me: That's AWESOME. The Cublet asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday. Now I know. Brace yourself, here comes the best idea ever!
Wetsoks looked afraid, possibly because I've said this a lot and sometimes it has turned out that my idea of fun is not always everyone's idea of fun, or normal.
Me: I want an Exotic Meat Birthday Party.
Wetsoks: ... You.... want....
Me: Possibly an Exotic Meat Birthday Barbecue.
Me: Possibly also featuring zombie facepaints?
Wetsoks: Okay. I'm in.