I’m not at the Doggies v Bombers game today. I’m not sitting in the magnificent seats my mate Robin leant us for the day. I’m not enjoying an overpriced yet welcome beer or listening to 774 or marking the score in The Record. No, Rae and Stink are doing all of that but I’m not.
All because I didn’t listen to my wife.
For a long time now I’ve had a little niggle with my left foot. Nothing serious, just seemed to seize up when I had been sitting still for a while. Then it began to get a little bit more seized at smaller intervals. Hmmm, I mentioned to this to Rae who wisely suggested I should go and see the doctor. I didn’t. The foot got worse. I thought it would get better. It didn’t. Recently I’ve begun to limp – it hurts to walk and for the past few weeks Rae has been at me and at me to make an appointment. I mean, I work at a hospital – it’s not that hard. But I didn’t make one until I finally gave in last Thursday and called.
This was a good idea because this long weekend I’ve barely been able to walk and my foot is throbbing with pain even as I sit here with it up. I wouldn’t have made it up the steps to Telstra Dome, let alone walking from the car. So here I am, watching the game on the telly and listening to Albert sing to his toys while Rae and Phee cheer on the Dogs, just metres from the boundary line.
One day I will learn my lesson, one day.