Eileen Mitchell

I’ll confess: I did a hap-hap-happy little jig when my surgeon told me I’d have to take six weeks off from work to recuperate from maxillofacial surgery. I seriously questioned how

a simple little procedure, like realigning my jaw and chin to correct my open-bite, could require six weeks convalescence, but hey, whatever.

So I gave the good doctor, whom I’d christened Dr. Hottie (for reasons which the name implies), a nudge-nudge-wink-wink sort of smile. “Whatever you say!” I amiably agreed.

“You’re the doctor, the boss-man, the big cheese. And by the way, is that a wedding band I don’t see?” Oh, but I digress. Six weeks off of work, you say? SaWEET!

I started making plans, big plans. Granted, I’d probably feel sluggish in the days immediately following the surgery, so this would be a good time to snuggle on the sofa, catch up on reading and watch all those movies in my Netflix queue. Then, after those first few days, I’d start writing my memoir, the one that has languished on the backburner all these years due to lack of time.

During creative breaks, maybe I’d polish off a few scrapbooking projects, do some spring cleaning, schmooze with friends at the local coffee shop, and enjoy leisurely afternoon walks with my Greyhound, Elvis. Hey, I could even go shopping! What a treat it would be to peruse the stores without having to fight my way around the teenage swarms that monopolise the mall on weekends.