She awoke, bleary eyed. Her joints stiffened by psoriatic arthritis. The absence of codeine in the house made her miserable. Slipping on her oversized slippers because that’s why they’re called slippers, she shuffled into the kitchen. She was overwhelmed with a desire for Melting Moments for breakfast. But then she remembered she ate the last batch of 48 yesterday, a mere 24 hours after baking them. “Oh, misery”, she said to herself. For a second she perked up, “I’ll just bake another batch!” Gleefully, she gathered together the ingredients but when it came time to measure out 200 grams of icing sugar she found her icing sugar vessel bereft of icing sugar. “Oh, fuck,” she said. And then, “Double fuck, I’m talking to myself. I must be going mad.”
She took her 51 year old self, in the body of a 95 year old crippled woman, and headed to the bathroom. It had been a week since she had had a shower. And she reeked. Like a 51 year old, in the body of a 95 year old crippled woman, who hadn’t had a shower for a week.
This time, she didn’t talk to herself, but kept her thoughts in her head: “I’m surprised the new cat doesn’t come near me, considering I smell like a tin of tuna.”
Her scalp itched. She started thinking, “Jesus. Is it fleas? It can’t be fleas. I sprinkled diatomaceous earth over all the surfaces of the house. Lice? No, I don’t have kids. Thank god.” Finally, the lightbulb moment arrived, “it’s the psoriasis”. And then “Oh fuck, I’ll have to take a shower and wash my hair. Bugger. I really like tuna.”
She fumbled through the bathroom cupboards looking for the industrial strength psoriasis shampoo. The one that she bought in Spain that the manufacturer had felt compelled to translate the label into English: “Atopic shampoo for sensitive hairy leather”. She was still miserable from the lack of icing sugar and codeine. “Hello, what’s this?” she said. To herself. Aloud. She had come across a cane basket in back of the cupboard containing what appeared to be a cornucopia of pharmaceutical concoctions. Immediately she recognised the familiar blue box, stuffed into the corner of the basket. “No, it can’t be,” she gasped. Yes, that tell-tale gasp of a woman experiencing the ultimate of pleasures. “Oh god!” she called out, this time, rather loudly. She began to hyperventilate. All was now right with the world. It was a full packet of Panadeine Extra. “Who needs Melting Moments when you’ve got a full packet of 360mg of codeine.
Cate Uí Néill 