The sun was shining, it was a gorgeous day.
I got back from my walk with low blood sugar, busting for a wee, with Bruno acting like I hadn't seen him for a week.
Ah! It did my head in. I already had the shakes and the camps, er, cramps, (not really, but you know what needing a piss feels like) then being rushed by Bruno,
“You’re back! You’re back! You’re back!” Jump, jump, jump.
For a split second I just didn't know what to do first? Pissing my pants as I collapsed onto Bruno squashing him seemed like a real option for a second.
Get my mask off, get my shoes off. Do I wash my hands before I pee?
“Yes, Bruno, yes Bruno, I’m happy to see you too.” You can’t ignore such pure love. I probably shouldn’t touch Bruno before I wash my hands.
Wash your hands. Wash your hands. Wash your hands. Wash your hands first. 20 seconds is an awfully long time when you are busting.
Bruno jumps up. “Yes Bruno, yes Bruno.” Don’t pat Bruno with wet hands.
He seemed to know when I’d dried my hands. Jump, jump, jump. I was still busting for a wee.
All the time I am still a bit giddy, I needed a couple of those mandarins sitting in the fruit bowl. Then, of course, I had to wash my hands again. It seemed to take hours to wash my hands.
But those two mandarins that I ate never tasted better.
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