He's gone again.
I saw them both leave with suitcases yesterday, but I stayed in the laundry basket until I was sure they weren't coming back. Seems safe now.
He switched the computer off, but I know the big button that starts it whizzing.
While it's taking half an hour to start up I'm having a look around the desk. What a mess.
Interesting, flight details, Amsterdam to London, out Thursday and back on Sunday. Cool, I seem to have a couple of days peace without the idiot.
Appointment card, Wednesday 11th March, fertility department at the hospital. Hmm, are they still rambling on about that? They really should just get a dog.
Wait, there's a booklet with it. Intrauterine Insemination. What the hell is that supposed to be? Lemme see, I'll have a read...
Damn, I'm making the pages all sticky. Ah well, he won't notice anyway, those magazines in the back of the wardrobe are practically welded together as it is.
What! Are they going to try this IUI thing? It says here I'd need to be tested again. That means being forced into one of those glorified pill bottles. It's bloody cramped in there, and smells of fish.
Not only that, they would 'wash' and 'spin' me! I know I'm 'whiter than white' but that's taking the laundry analogies a bit too far for my liking.
It's bad enough being shot out at about four thousand miles an hour, smacking face first into a plastic wall, but they want to spin me around in some laboratory?
Just great that is, potential spinal injury and disorientation, bloody lovely.
And these guys are surprised when we end up swimming in circles? Medical school my arse.
Oh for the love of Jesus, look what it says here! If I manage to survive their attempts at inflicting brain damage on me, I get shoved into a syringe and fired into a uterus.
I've managed to avoid getting anywhere near that place for two bloody years through greed, guile, and gravity, and now they want to inject me in there!
What a pair of sneaky bastards.
I need to think about this one. I'm going back to the laundry basket to sulk.