And while the rain was pouring, the tides were rising, and the basements (still not mine!) were flooding, Bear was out helping folks with generators and pumps and things. Because that's the swell kind of guy he is.
Unfortunately, most of the generators, gasoline-powered pumps and whatnots all needed to be started with the same motion (the cross-body zzzing! of a lawnmower pull cord) and that's something that gets B in trouble everytime. He was groaning in the shower - Ohhh! I've got something done to my back! - and I started hunting through the medicine cabinet, because that's the kind of pill-pushing girl I....ahem. I started looking through the medicine cabinet, searching for the remnants of wraps and ointments and braces from the last time he put his back out.
He headed downstars to ferret out some anti-inflammatories. When he huffed his way to the top of the stairs and groaned his way into bed, I sang out as he turned out his light:
Honey? I found the rub-ass!
The light clicked back on. He peered at me. 'The what?'
The rub-ass. Do you want me to put some on you?
He snorted. 'Right. Um, Jess, my back hurts.'
I turn a very deep shade of fushia when I blush.
Not that! The rub-ass! You know, the cream....the smelly cream.....
'Oh!' my husband said, brightly. 'No, I don't want to smell like wintergreen tomorrow.'
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you.....
*Truthfully, I don't know if this is a strictly Canadian product or not. Like Buckleys Cough Syrup, it may not have made its way past the borders yet. If you haven't seen this in your stores yet (or the truly horrible 'dancing muscle' commercial on tv) - count yourself lucky. It's like Ben-Gay on steroids. Stinky, but effective.