Upon awaking this morning and feeling the brush of cotton over my left leg I let out a yelp. First it was the initial pain of fabric rubbing against a painful skin wound - then it was the horror that overnight my formerly svelte toe-ringed calf had been switched with that of an injured quadruple-bosomed old Greek lady or some such.
And don't even get me started on what it's like to sleep three on a bed (in what is an Indian 'double' - roughly the size of a spoiled American teenagers 'single').
Somehow we neglected to remember to pack a portable sleeping solution for 'The Fat Baby' (as he's affectionately referred to these days). Turns out we also neglected to pack enough baby snacks and food too. But astonishingly we remembered to pack all manner of computer and gadget-related hardware and masses of accompanying plugs and adapters. Go figure. (Hey we may be suffering somewhat but darn it we will have a digital memory of it all and musical accompaniment no less...)
Anyway, the husband is off to his second rabies shot at the hospital and then on to a beach in north Goa to meet a friend.
The Fat Baby and I have a day to fill. Think I may as well concede defeat, go buy a canister of his beloved sour cream and onion Pringles and find a shady hammock somewhere where I can nurse my fetid leg in private.
Only eight hours and eleven minutes until happy hour.