… for either one bitch of a headache, slightly used, or one female of reasonably good character.
The Headache and I became acquainted for the first time many years ago in a small town called Puberty. It was an inauspicious first meeting, one party being the aggressor and the other the victim. Since then the Headache has stomped in and out of my life at irregular yet disturbingly frequent intervals. He usually arrives unannounced, often in the early hours of morning, sometimes accompanied by his yobbish sidekick Nausea.
The Headache, with the willing assistance of Nausea, has launched many attacks on me over the twenty-something years we’ve known each other, but this week something seems different. I suspect he has been thrown out of his previous digs because he arrived on Monday with a bad attitude and settled himself in the front of my head, demanding aspirin and a darkened room in the same way that a belligerent, drunken husband demands a beer and a blowjob. Nausea arrived a few hours later having got lost on the way and has been creeping insidiously around me murmuring in my ear and generally making his presence felt in the most revolting manner. Usually after a few hours I have managed to persuade them they’re not welcome and they slope off, but this week they seem to have arrived with the intention of staying forever.
I have called for help several times over the last week but sadly even the combined forces of Sergeant Ibuprofen and his rookie recruit Constable Paracetamol have been unable to evict the two squatters from their comfortable perch in my cranium.
I think the only solution is for me to move out and leave them to it.