Yesterday was Valentines Day.
I wouldn't say that I was a big romantic but it certainly wasn't spent the way I'd envisioned.
Clever B had already bought me flowers the day before.
At 10pm I found myself at a public school gym watching B play basketball after eating far too much at our fave Indo restaurant Ayam Goreng 99.
5 minutes into the game B and I were driving off to the emergency room to get B's upper lip stitched up.
Elbows can be dangerous.
I spent the rest of that night and most of this morning dashing between the counter to get more cotton padding to absorb the blood and charging to the carpark to check the car.
Weak from worry I barely managed to stand up to hold B's hand whilst he had his stitches done.
Unused to seeing B with his lip being sewn together I barely managed to appear encouraging every time he unscrewed his eyes open to peer at me.
The resident took so long getting the first stitch in, I had to summon all my wits to stop myself from shrieking at him, snatching the needle out of his hands and doing it myself.
6 hours later we rolled into bed.
This morning was spent calling his boss, his colleague, my boss, my colleague recounting the whole incident.
By the time I'd called my boss I had lost all sense of dignity and burst into tears and was sobbing the story down the phone to her.
I'm certain that if she were here she would have made me cocoa and tucked me into bed.
I'm certain that that would be entirely my fault as well.
B got his lip stitched together but I still need to have my nerves stitched together.
Ended up watching Kerri-Anne show to restore some sense of normality and then spent the rest of this afternoon cooking giant pot of congee to make myself feel useful.
Now researching Prada collection to be useful.
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