Me and Mr Zimm

He’s been watching me, you know. I’m sensitive that way, I can just tell. But don’t worry, I think I’ve got the upper hand over him, at least for now. As walking aids go, he’s quite well-behaved really, lets me decide our course, how long we’ll walk, when it’s time to turn back.

It’s just difficult to ignore those side-long looks he gives me when I’m parking him next to the front door, the kind of looks that make my heart speed up until it feels as if it’s going as noisily as a mechanical egg timer.

Turbo-charged

At least the glances don’t work on me quite so well now I’ve read those co-dependency books. I still need to work on my boundaries, I know, and I’ve been getting slightly better. But there are still times when I feels like I need to get him more carrots, or another scarf off Amazon. Perhaps some solar-powered fairy lights like you see on some of the flashier walking aids. Artificial flowers. A traffic horn. Turbo-charged rocket booster, perhaps?

Going by another name

We’ve got used to each other, me and Mr Zimm, though he still likes to go by different names, depending on where we find ourselves. He doesn’t like the term ‘rollator’, neither do I. Sounds far too much like a bedroom accessory. “Zimmer frame” isn’t quite right either, they didn’t usually have wheels or accessories, whereas Mr Zimm is pretty nimble on his wheeled feet.

Beast of burden seems about right. He has four sturdy legs. A padded saddle, nose band, bridle, flash trap. Spurs for when you need extra speed. 

Standing there

I’m trying really hard to improve my boundaries, but still find It painful to see how forlorn and self-conscious he can look, standing there by the front door, dampened blue chiffon draped around him after yesterday’s showers, his front harness streaked with dust.

Folding his undercarriage

It can be tricky, folding up that noisy undercarriage of his. Sometimes I suspect he’s reluctant to comply with orders to stay home, he’s plainly longing to hit the road again.

 
When he’s in this kind of mood it’s tempting to try and cheer him up, reassure him with promises of another walk this evening. He’s been good to me, you see. Much as I hate being dependent on him, I need him to get around. It’s not bad as toxic relationships go.


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