"I'm fine, really".
"No, I'm well, alright, oh, oh dear".
Look, there it was, miso sea bass, spicy yellow tail, curried tofu, I could see it all. Jack shook his head, I succumbed to the pressure, I could see the menu. But not if you held it over my left shoulder, a dull ache on that side prevented me from turning my head, rotating my entire body, like Joan Cusak at the water fountain, was the only way I could see the room behind me. The full body twist combined with the reading glasses, my only saving grace being a pimple I felt growing on my chin; sans that I was at least my own age, if not older.
When we got home my sister reported that Eleanor Roosevelt was unable to jump up on the sofa. The next day she winced when touched. Five buildings away she had to stop and take a break, sprawling out on the sidewalk, our walk blissfully cut short as I could only hold the leash in my right hand finding it far too painful to keep hold of the slowly lumbering first lady with my left. She flatly refused to climb the steps to our apartment and so, with great care so as to not hurt her or throw my back out completely, I carried the 40 pound beagle up the stairs. We were both exhausted. She cried when the children came near, I thought she had somehow gone blind over night, being easily startled and scared. Waving my hands wildly in front of her face, I pictured her in reading glasses, red to match her collar. I wondered if seeing eye dog courtesies would be extended if neither of us could see.
Without a car, or any feeling on my left side, I scooted the two children into a taxi, hoisted the injured Mrs. Roosevelt, still unable to move, into my lap and hurried off to the vet the first thing this morning. She is not old and dying, she can actually see, she simply sprained her back. One half an anti inflammatory a day, administered tonight via goat cheese after rejecting peanut butter and pasta, and she will be fine in a few short days.
My course of treatment should be only so tasty.