A Big Mistake

I think I have mentioned before that I wear contact lenses but I often don't put them in until I need to go out. On Sunday morning I was in a bit of a hurry because I needed to pick Sam up from church and then we were all going to my mums for a belated birthday celebration for my step father. As often happens the time rushed past, I'd been busy writing an article, then suddenly I noticed the time and I had to rush to have my bath and get ready. I decided to wear my jeans, they are too big really but they are ideal for going to mum's because her dogs jump all over me. I got dressed and rushed downstairs, but when I put my boots on I noticed that I kept treading on the back of the trousers, they seemed to have grown in the wash. Closer inspection revealed my mistake - they were Robbie's jeans! As they say, more haste less speed.

Two Tone

I am short sighted, I wear contact lenses, but in the mornings I manage fine around the house without needing to see anything clearly. In fact it can be a benefit not to see things in detail, the lurid colours of Robbie's socks are too much to cope with early in the morning. If I have to drive to give someone a lift or whatever, I wear my glasses and then take them off again when I get back. That explains how I managed to let Robbie out of the house improperly dressed yesterday - when he got to work he found that he was wearing his black suit trousers and his charcoal grey suit jacket! I will have to do what I used to do with the children and check him over before I let him out of the house in the mornings.

Trouble Afoot

On Sunday evening I had just settled down to do some writing when there was a yell of pain from the bathroom. The yell was followed by a string of expletives and then thunderous bumps that indicated that Robbie was hopping down the stairs. He burst into the lounge groaning in agony and dripping blood onto the floor. Incredibly he had manaed to get glass in his foot again, and he was ranting that someone was deliberately leaving glass around for him to tread on. I'm not sure what made me more angry, his stupid accusations or the fact that he had hopped arround the house leaving a trail of blood instead of calling me to the bathroom to help him. He parked himself on the sofa with his foot resting on a chair waiting for me to remove the glass a procedure not made easier by his yelps of agony or by my less than perfect close up vision when wearing contact lenses. I removed the glass fairly easily, it was a tiny sliver of very thin glass, but shutting Robbie up was more of a challenge. I said that the way he walks must have something to do with it because it never happens to anyone else and the sensible thing would be for him to not walk around barefoot. He wouldn't hear of it, so I have no idea how to avoid further incidents like this. I've had a very close look at the bathroom floor and I can't see or feel any glass. I think it must get trodden in on Robbie's boots, and those boot, just like Robbie's feet are a law unto themselves!