“Not the legs! Not the legs! Not the legs! DON’T TOUCH THE LEGS…”
Those were the cries that came out of our bedroom on Sunday night.
No — it wasn’t anything the least bit untoward and it wasn’t even good, married sex. It was me in agony when my lower back went into spasm and I needed help moving from the floor of the bedroom onto our bed. I had to summon AP when I was frozen in pain and he mistakingly grabbed my legs to push them into a less awkward position.
It all came about when we decided to paint the garden fence on a sunny afternoon. We painted and painted and when we finished, the painting was over but I was hobbling. And when the evening sun went down, that’s when the cryin’ started.