Risk or Death? Uh... I'll take Death, please.

Hello blog-fans.  Some of you may be wondering why famed heroine of the 'Vietnam?  Yes please!' blog has not featured in recent posts.  You may be wondering why I have been posting about cafes and domestic duties rather than the Rinjani/losing passports/half marathons/orangutans you have accustomed yourselves to.  Well, the honest answer is that I'm old now, and boring.  The blog-worthy answer is that about a month ago, Fate, with the voice of Eddie Izzard circa 1997, loomed next to the inspiration for my Li Hi adventures, Risk or Death, and had the following conversation:

Fate: Risk... or Death?

RoD: uh... I'll take Death please.

Fate: Well we're outta death, you'll have to take tea, I mean Risk.  We only had three Deaths and we weren't expecting such a rush.

(Here it is, because we love it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ndIjV8Nk6DA)

So, with the choice of 'Risk or...', RoD took the opportunity to try the 'broken limb' option, and got taken out by a full grown kamikaze male on a ski slope, face planting unhappily in the Japanese snow under the force of a 90kg man moving at 100 kmph on an out of control snowboard.  Pah!  Snowboarders...

This resulted in a wrist broken in two... maybe three places... which frankly, is something to shout about.  Dutifully, RoD took a plane to Thailand (because this is what you do as an expat when these things happen) and checked herself in to the plush Bangkok hospital and began negotiations with the medical insurance people, having to shout over the very inconsiderate protesters lining the streets outside.

Protesters: loud noises, something about disliking Yingluck Shinawatra...

RoD: I say!  You - rowdy mob out there!  One is trying to sort out one's direct billing.  Do you mind?  You're making an awful racket!

Once checked in, RoD's only opportunity for high-adrenalin action was tottering down the corridor to Starbucks without spilling her intravenous liquid all over the floor.  This quickly drove her to breaking point and she was compelled to sneak out of bed one night, wrap the IV around her waist like a utility belt and covertly creep along the hall to the consultant's office.  Whilst holding him at syringe-point, she explained to him the needs of her lifestyle and, stammering for fear of his life, he agreed that a cast for us all to sign and draw smiley faces all over was not an appropriate solution to RoD's predicament. 

Happy that he had volunteered this agreement of his own accord, RoD suggested that the only possible solution, therefore, would be to inject adamantium into her wrists so that she could use her right hand to cling on to impenetrable surfaces whilst scaling sheer rock faces, and ward off big cats with a sharp back-hander when stalking springbok in the un-touristed sections of the Kruger National Park.

Of course, the doctor agreed, and administered the adamantium by the light of the moon, transforming RoD into this:

... except in a hospital robe with the bum cut open at the back...

... and since she then had six weeks of recovery time, she looked more like this:

... except by the time she got home, she had figured out how to shower one-handed, and was therefore looking a little more sanitary than our friend here.

... and obviously, RoD is not a man, or Hugh Jackman (too bad), so the images aren't really an accurate portrayal of her transformed identity... um...

So there we go!  All the explanation you could possibly need for my comparative lack of action and excitement.  I am living vicariously through RoD's eventful life as only a bored housewife can, and since she is out of action for another fortnight or so, your next installment will consist of a story about flying kites at sunset...

Pleasant.