It is not too much to ask! And the heavy toilet door is such a pain in the arse, I had it only this very evening when I had to get Jase to come to the accessible toilet with me (twice) as I can’t safely manage it with my rollator. So infantilising. A simple push button opening/closing please and then I can go to the toilet by myself 🤬
We had an alarm and that same warning at a hotel in Philly last week. It was baffling. On another note we’ve moved to Bristol, let me know if you’d like to get together while you are at the beach. I could bring ice cream.
Ok I’m failing at figuring out how to DM you—can you send me a private message or do you guys still have Michael’s email? It would be so great to get together!
Love your writing as usual. It must definitely be scary when your illness progresses.
My mother told me once: never grow bitter and never lose your sense of humor.
I love the scotch bottle where the fire extinguisher should be and I love the apology.
How British. Right? I have a postcard I have had for years on my fridge: It is a photo of a British mailman carrying bottles of milk with everything around him having been bombed, I am guessing the night before.
"Don’t do shit for us before checking with us." This absolutely tickled me as a way to explain "nothing about us without us." Also UGH heavy doors. Ugh.
It is not too much to ask! And the heavy toilet door is such a pain in the arse, I had it only this very evening when I had to get Jase to come to the accessible toilet with me (twice) as I can’t safely manage it with my rollator. So infantilising. A simple push button opening/closing please and then I can go to the toilet by myself 🤬
Disabled toilet behind two sets of heavy doors. In a health care centre, no less.
Nuff said.
you were so close!
We had an alarm and that same warning at a hotel in Philly last week. It was baffling. On another note we’ve moved to Bristol, let me know if you’d like to get together while you are at the beach. I could bring ice cream.
I’ll DM you!
Ok I’m failing at figuring out how to DM you—can you send me a private message or do you guys still have Michael’s email? It would be so great to get together!
Heavy doors are a pain for us old people too. And toilets made for toddlers.
Love your writing as usual. It must definitely be scary when your illness progresses.
My mother told me once: never grow bitter and never lose your sense of humor.
I love the scotch bottle where the fire extinguisher should be and I love the apology.
How British. Right? I have a postcard I have had for years on my fridge: It is a photo of a British mailman carrying bottles of milk with everything around him having been bombed, I am guessing the night before.
"Don’t do shit for us before checking with us." This absolutely tickled me as a way to explain "nothing about us without us." Also UGH heavy doors. Ugh.
Tall Tippy Guy. Three cheers for your sardonic wit. So there's that. And.... heard.