My friend and colleague Wetsoks, who features a lot in these posts due to our ridiculous but often amusing conversations, has not been feeling very well recently. On several evenings, I received texts complaining about the increasing amount of daylight (something that obviously falls under my responsibility and control) which have not helped to calm her headaches. So when I received the following texts, I was not immediately panicked. This quickly changed.
It is necessary to know that she does not deal very well with bleeding wounds for many medical reasons, and I have in the past been known to shout "clot" at her over and over, in a verbal attempt to assist stemming the blood flow from whatever accident she has just had, while she stares at me with barely concealed irritation. We apparently hold differing opinions as to whether this method improves or disrupts the healing process.
Wetsoks: CLOT! CLOT! WOAH BEAR!
As a sidenote, Woah Bear is the international symbol, among my friends, for (flirting) distress - link here http://witandpendulum.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/in-case-of-bear-attacks.html for those who haven't read this.
Me: Woah... blood?
Wetsoks: Don't freak out, but the paramedic is here.
Me: Are you kidding me? What the hell?
Wetsoks: I'll call you in a bit. It's okay, no panic. Just a Nosey Bleedy thing.
Me: *uncertain ears*
Wetsoks: It's okay buddy, I'm not even going to need to go to hospital!
Me: That is a totally unreassuring sentence. What brought it on?
Wetsoks: I don't know. A cold? Stress? Bad blood? My colleague's cologne? It's cool, the nice man shoved loads of stuff up there. That's not a euphemism. Or is it?
Me: It's probably the alignment of the planets. Looks like you're a prophet. It's a terrible job but it's probably better than the one you have. PS. At least make the nice man buy you dinner first.
Wetsoks: God has spoken to me and his message is that the world should bleed. It's already doing that so let's go to the pub for a drink. Oh wait. I don't like drinking. Or people. Or being outside. Or awake.
Me: Please don't start the list again.
Wetsoks: I'm thinking of texting my boss to say I can't go to work tomorrow because a paramedic inserted a nasal sponge. Yes, that is a thing. I look ridiculous.
Me: Can we start a band called Nasal Sponge?
Me: Are you sure you're okay though?
Wetsoks: Oh, sure. You know how I like all the attention for my mad bleeding skills.
Me: Your nosebleeds bring ALL the boys to the yard. As proven.
Wetsoks: My life is better than yours.
Me: Could you teach me?
Wetsoks: I'd have to charge.
Me: What about friend discounts? Mates rates?
Wetsoks: I don't know... will you come over and get me ice cream from the freezer?
Me: Sure, but I'm miles away. I'll be there in, say, 24 hours.
Wetsoks: We're supposed to be friends!
Me: Dude, you know I move slowly. You've seen me date.
Me: Okay, so I'll check in with you later. Try not to set fire to anything or concuss yourself in the meantime.
Wetsoks: I'm fine. I'll probably be sleeping. You know how I like to sleep. Don't freak out if I'm sleeping.
Me: DON'T SLEEP EVER AGAIN.
Wetsoks: Buddy, I'm allowed to sleep. Nothing is on fire.
Wetsoks: Well, I can't argue with that.