The king is afflicted.
Life here has been a bit frazzled. For some reason, he resists taking pain medication until the last possible moment when he reaches the "I wish I were dead" stage.
Food has been impossible - rather, chewing food has been impossible - for him so I have been concocting a succession of as-nutritious-and-delicious-as-I-can-possibly-make-it soups, pureed by my trusty stick blender. Last night was a bacon, potato, garlic, roquette (aka arugula/rocket) and cheese concoction. Today, he had to resist assorted chilis - at a chili cook-off we had already committed to. That, and the overkill at an Italian two-year-old's birthday party. Yes, that was family.
Today is his birthday. We are meeting close friends we [nonetheless] have not seen in a long time.
"I can drink, but I can't eat." the king said, setting up the date. "I have surgery the next day." [can you say "root canal"? eek.]
"You're kidding!" was the retort, laughing.
"No. Not kidding."
"Drink, but not eat?!"
"Yep. Drinking is good. At the moment. That, and the narcotics."
Hoo boy. I can hardly wait for life to be back to normal. Meanwhile, we have a date up at the local pub for a couple of pints, by prescription.
Happy Birthday to the king!