Q & A: Difficult choices

Christmas dinner was postponed
until New Year's Eve so that I
could be present. As usual Beef
Wellington was served, of which
I ate not a scrap (Dietary restraints).
I refuse to explain the explain the
slogan on Zach's black tee-short.

“How are you?” they say. And I never know how to answer.

I live on what we in the UK call “an estate” a dense cluster of residential houses. Yesterday, on daughter PB’s orders, I went outside to disassemble the artificial Christmas tree for transportation up to the loft. Part of a cathartic exercise whereby every trace of Christmas is removed from the house – inside and out – in an exhausting couple of hours. Leaving all three of us completely knackered but deliciously purged. Back to normal.

News travels quickly on the estate. As I disentangled the flashing lights and baubles an intermittent stream of pedestrians passed by, to the supermarket, walking their dogs or getting some exercise. A high percentage would know I spent Christmas in hospital; some would want to pose the question above.

Most would be satisfied with an “OK” but how to judge? It’s been nine days since the op and familiar acquaintances would want an update. In what degree of detail?

As an earlier post has explained my op is not easily discussed. The target area is intimate and the vocabulary involves terms usually avoided in public conversation. On occasion I’ve made the wrong choice. Been altogether too frank, causing a blank look and an obvious desire for my questioner to be on his/her way. Oh, not that!

Mercifully this is not happening during my stay in the USA. There, I almost always got it wrong, even with less controversial subjects. You see I have this tendency towards polysyllabic language when responding. Showing off, of course. It didn’t go down well In Dormont, PA.

Too much or too little? Perhaps a feeble joke: a word-play on plumbing. Illness isn’t at all straightforward these days.