During my time with the Austin's eighth floor posse: Adrian (Liver Transplant), George (Heart Attack) and Angel (Whinny old guy), we were all presided over by one Nordic princess, Ingrid. This 6’1” Viking beauty not only tended our wounds, but administered 100mg of love in the process to each and every one of us; and after three days of care we were all biding for her plastic-gloved affections. Indeed, this could purely be because she was the only resident capable of taking our ills away with those lovely, pearl-like white pills she would manage our way every four hours; or it could simply be a stereotypical case of Florence Nightingale syndrome, wherein the patient falls in love with his immediate career. Whatever the case, I’ve been out of the ward now for seven days and while I'm sit lamenting over the lovely princess, Adrian, George and Angel are still privy to her affections.
Something must be done.
Now, these five days haven’t been without purpose. Concurrent with the healing of my battered stomach, I’ve managed to watch every Richard Curtis movie made available, research in itself that should enable me to be the most romantic man in the world, no? So, I’m thinking, like Hugh Grant I should march down to the hospital, down to the white walls of “w” wing and woo the precious Viking queen like she’s never been wooed before.
I can do it, I know I can.
...However, the only draw back to this otherwise flawless plan, is that I’ve also spent the last week listening to Ronny James Dio records and for anyone who knows his work, knows that Dio is spent on tales of Dragons and the adventures of Knights. So, while my heart is savoring the dry witted romance of Four Weddings and a Funeral and Notting Hill, my mouth is sprouting the words Lord of the Rings and Excalibur; and as experience has taught me, this is not the strongest of suits. The way I see it I have three choices:
1) March down there, sounding like a dwarf lord and all, and let the chips fall where they may.
2) Grow back my appendix so that they can get inflamed again and get back on the ward to some more reconnaissance work.
3) Forget about my Viking Dream girl, make the final payment on my Russian bride and live happily ever after.
The clock's ticking and I'm without a clue...
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