279. Local alien

My husband got up in the middle of the night. He did not know remember he had changed house and did not know where he was so, trying to reach the bathroom, he managed to open the door in pitch dark (he was not allowed to turn on the light because I like to sleep with the windows wide open for cool air and to hear cowbells and birds and other animals scurrying around the woods at night) but then walked straight into the door's frame.

When I came down to breakfast I stared and said.

'Jee! What happened?'

'Did you not hear me swear?' He replied.

Then he went down to the village for a few errands.

Shop (everything shop) for baguette and croissants.

'She looked at my forehead but never said anything.

Mairie. (Paper work for Muddy-Boots who's crawling up some mountain side somewhere) 

'She looked at my forehead but never said anything. 

Post office. (Paper work for Muddy-Boots who's crawling up some mountain side somewhere) 

'The Mairie lady just walked to the other side of the room to become the post office lady. Being behind a different counter she still did not ask about my forehead. Was still looking at it but instead we talked about the house and the kids.'

Café.

'The man looked at my forehead but never said anything.'

He did not seem that bothered yet mentioned that all these people must have wondered what the mad English man (i.e. the local alien) must have been up to to get into that state.

I made no comments.

By evening when we went to the restaurant in the nearby touristy town the bump was down and the gash not so red and so no-one stared. The gash on the forehead was part of the man now. 

Later on as he saw me on the laptop on his way up to bed, I pointed out the doors and the layout of this little house. He nodded and said.

'Are you blogging about my sore head?'