As I write this post, I am sitting on the bed with my laptop on my outstretched legs, which are crossed at the ankles in a very ladylike fashion. During the time I spend typing away, I will undoubtedly shift the entire operation, bit by bit, through a series of movements large and small. I don't know that I am unusually fidgety; I don't think that I am, but I do have to move around a bit to remain comfortable. Some of this is due directly to things like the twinges associated with having lupus and fibromyalgia, with some chronic phlebitis in the lower legs to add some fun to the mix. Not mentioned as a complaint, just as a matter of fact. The biggest reason for me moving around, though, has to do with me being someone Trent refers to as Princess Pea.
I have admitted, more than once, to being weird. I admit it almost as often as I lay claim to the title of The Meanest Woman in the World. The weirdness, in this case, has to do with sensitivity. Not emotional sensitivity, which I have plenty of - I don't cry over books, movies, songs, (heck, even tv commercials), just for a lack of something better to do. I am talking about physical sensitivity.
Please don't get all judgemental on me without continuing to read what I am talking about. I am not a wimp. A wimp would not be able to fracture her right tibia just below the knee, and get up and drive herself home after the nausea lessened. And then climb the stairs to her third-floor apartment. When I walked into the doctor's office the next day, it never occurred to my doctor to x-ray my leg, because someone who has a broken leg can't walk on it, right? It actually took a couple of weeks for the discovery that it was a fracture rather than a torn ligament. Similarly, when I fractured my wrist in a fall, it took me a few weeks to ask for an x-ray because it was hurting and feeling weak at the weirdest and most inconvenient times. It would appear that I can, indeed, handle pain, perhaps almost too well.
What makes this weird? Well, I have a tendency to be very sensitive in other ways. For example, I can't wear nightgowns. The material will fold up under my side during the night and wake me up. And as far as that old saying that goes, "So-and-so can eat crackers in my bed any time?" Well, if they do, they had better plan on two things - Trent giving them the stink eye because they don't belong in my bed, and me waking up during the night and having to go over the sheets with one of those tape lint-rollers to remove the crumbs because they will irritate my skin and make me unable to sleep.
Trent often says that I must be a Princess, because it reminds him of the story of the Princess and the Pea. If you aren't familiar with the story, a young woman who doesn't look wealthy or refined shows up at a castle and claims to be a Princess. The Prince's mother, the Queen, doesn't want her son to get married to a mere peasant, so she decides to test the young woman, whom she invites to be an overnight guest. The Queen has a dried pea put under a stack of mattresses and feather beds and waits until morning to see the results. The young woman is asked how she slept the following morning, and says that she couldn't sleep because there was something in the bed that irritated her delicate skin, and probably bruised her. The Queen says that only a true Princess would have felt the pea through all of those mattresses. Her son marries the young woman forthwith, even though she is a rude house guest who apparently complains about everything.
Even though Trent knows that I can handle a great deal of pain, he lovingly jokes that I am a delicate flower and his Princess Pea, since I can be kept awake by a wrinkled nightgown or stabby crumbs under the covers. I laugh hysterically when he says it, too. Even though it's me, I have to say there is just something weird about a person who can climb stairs with a broken leg (it wasn't remotely easy, but you do what you have to do), but can't bear the feeling of bunched-up fabric under her ribs. And don't even get me started about high-necked clothing, because it makes me feel like I am being strangled to death. But I am not a wimp or a complainer. I am delicate. I am a Princess. I am the delicate Princess Pea. Bwahahahaha!