Liquid Gold

//Liquid Gold

All cozied up in bed, I spotted the small rectangular shaped box standing on my bedside locker, strategically placed there by my good self the previous day.  This was no ordinary box, in fact, it contained a potential pot of gold, CBD oil. Sure hasn’t it worked WONDERS for lots of people.  The son and daughter-in-law had paid a hefty 70 quid for the feckin thing, to help all my ailments.

As the instructions suggested, that I drop two droplets of the miracle cure under my tongue and hold it there for two minutes, I was preparing myself for the administration of this task.

‘Preparing yourself?’, I hear you ask. ‘Sure, wouldn’t you just open your gob and lift up your tongue, press the nozzle twice and Bob’s your uncle.’  Ah but it’s not as simple as that.  Apparently it’s important to do it in front of a mirror or you could use too many drops, very easily.

So, I was preparing myself.  Now, I could have just got up out of the bed, walked to the bathroom and used the mirror in there but to be honest, I couldn’t have been arsed.  Having already used a little mirror to dry my hair, while in the bed, I decided to use that, for this task also.  Yeah, I do that, dry the hair in bed! Sure haven’t I been told to rest. I do what I’m told and if it can be done in my bed, then there I’ll do it.  I’ve peeled spuds and even chopped vegetables, in the sack, at one time or other, saves the aul back when standing at the kitchen counter.  On occasion, I do my skincare, makeup, the lot, in the bed.  If I could have a shower in there, sure I’d do that too.  Mind you, I suppose I could have a bed bath, wouldn’t that be grand.  A little bowl of water beside the bed with a facecloth, to give the private parts a little wash.  Like the nurses do, but a DIY job.  As a teenager, I’d wanted to be a nurse but sure I couldn’t stand the smell of sick, so reckoned that put me out of the running.  It wasn’t until I had my own three young ones that I realised there was no getting away from the aul vomit.

Anyway, I digress.  Having taken the small bottle of liquid gold from the box, I unscrewed the top to reveal a dropper. The instructions advised to ‘place the dropper in the bottle, press the rubber end with thumb and forefinger, then release’, to suck up some of the liquid into the glass end of it.  Effortlessly, I did as directed and placed the bottle on the nearest surface to hand.  Taking the mirror in my left hand, I lifted my tongue towards the roof of my mouth and with the help of my reflection, successfully dropped two drops of the wonder oil, under my tongue.  Following instructions meant I had to leave those drops in place for two minutes before swallowing, for the best effect.  However, whether I did that, I’ll never know.  Due to the sheer anticipation of this special liquid potentially curing all ills, whilst dripping those drops, I simultaneously felt a sensation on my left tit.  The sensation was one I haven’t felt since I breastfed my youngest, 30 years ago.  It was like my boob was leaking.

‘Mother of Divine Jesus,’ I thought, ‘I’m preggers!’

Maybe it was an IVF bottle they’d picked up in the shop, instead of CBD.  I’m fifty feckin seven, enjoying the freedom of aul age. What on earth was I going to do with a babby.

A smell wafted up towards my nostrils, slowly reaching my brain receptors.  Suddenly, realisation dawned. It WAS CBD oil and it was AWOL…ALL WASTED ON LINEN.  As if in slow motion, I inclined my head towards the top area of the nightie, eyes focusing on a large wet patch.  Sure hadn’t the feckin liquid spread across my chest.  Quick as a light, I grabbed the offending bottle, which I must have absently placed on a surface that had long been going south.  Placing the container on the bedside locker, there was nothing for it but to grab the soaked linen nightie and suck the bejaysus out it.  As if that wasn’t enough, there was about a tenner’s worth rolling down my left boob, which I hoisted up, for once, thankful for it’s easy to stretch, aged state.  All I could think of, as I licked the expensive solution off my left tit was ‘thanks be to jaysus, it didn’t drip on my arse’.

Carefully replacing the top on the bottle, I reckoned I had about a week’s worth of pain relief in my gob.  The feckin taste of it, I was only short of dialling the emergency services and asking if it was possible to overdose on CBD oil.  But sure, the dodgy back, neck, hip and leg were as bad as ever, the only place I didn’t have a pain was my left tit.  Then there was the million dollar question. ‘When is it safe to take it again?’.  Tentatively I lifted up the bottle and sure there was only a dribble in the bottom of it.  That took care of that!

My problems weren’t over yet.  My kindly son and daughter-in-law were eager to see how their mission of mercy had panned out.

‘How are you getting on with the oil Mum.  Any improvement yet?’ the son asked.

I’m no good at telling lies, I go pink, so I had to improvise.  Desperate times need desperate measures.

‘Ah sure it’s early days yet,’ I said (I’d been on the stuff for 3 weeks).

‘Maybe in another week or two you’ll see a difference,’ my lovely daughter-in-law interjected.

Panic rose inside me.  I barely had enough for another day, never mind another week and sure with the price of the stuff, I couldn’t admit having made such a boob, a left boob to be precise.

There was nothing for it, I’d have to fork out 70 quid on a new bottle, order it online.  Out came the laptop, as I reluctantly dragged the credit card from my purse.  Finding the product on the relevant site was easy, putting in my credit card details, not so.  It was seriously painful.  As I pressed the ‘proceed’ button, visualising the figure of ‘70’ flowing out of my bank into cyberspace, I glanced at my dangly left boob with a disgruntled air.  Then I felt guilty. Sure, hadn’t it served me well, perked up with its right-sided companion in my youth, filling sexy bras with zest.  Later, three babbies were fed on that left tit, not all at once mind you.  It wasn’t enough for one of them though, he needed a bottle as well as the tit, another gave me feckin mastitis, but the big lad, who was last but by no means least, had feasted on the milk that wonderful body part produced, for months.  Heading south it may be, but sure so was everything else.

After the breast appreciation session, I phoned the son again.

‘Son’, I said, as the young fella answered the phone. ‘I was only thinking back to what a hungry babby you were, all those years ago,’ I continued.

‘Still am Mum,’ my eldest offspring replied, through the sound of munching on something or other.

Has it down to a fine art though, that young fella, between the gym and that intermittent fasting thingy, he has a grand physique.

‘Well,’ I continued, ‘from all that feeding, between yourself and your siblings, my tits are fecked.’

‘Mum’, came the reply ‘that line, you’ve crossed it again!’

Jaysus, I’d crossed that feckin line so many times, discussing things no mother should discuss with her offspring, wouldn’t you think he would have been used to it by now?  I reckon he is, he just needs to point it out every now and again.

‘And why do you feel the need to divulge that bit of information to me?’ he asked reluctantly, quite obviously fearing the answer was going to be another four furlongs beyond the line I’d already crossed. ‘

‘Well son’ I answered, ‘that CBD oil you bought me, it’s done them wonders, they’re standing to attention like they haven’t since I was a young one myself’.’

Liar liar, pants on fire, good job we weren’t on Facetime or he would have seen my pink face.

Enough said, he cut me off.  Well in the old days, he would have cut me off.  Now he just pressed a button that ended the call.  That would put an end to any questions about how the CBD oil was working.  It’d give me some breathing space to get delivery of the next bottle and digest enough of it to make a difference…or not.

However, my little ploy was going to cost me even more money.  I was now going to have to fork out on a super uplifting bra, to wear every time I visit the son and daughter-in-law.  But to be honest, I’d imagine the last place they’d feel comfortable looking at, after that conversation, would be my tits!!

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By |2020-06-10T14:48:50+00:00June 10th, 2020|Comments Off on Liquid Gold

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