I was raised with the idea that men are tough, physical beings that work hard, and fix most stuff around the house. They're protective of their family, their car, and their lawn, not necessarily in that order. So why is it, when these big, tough, creatures get sick they regress to acting like infants?
My husband had a small procedure done on his toe. No big deal, local anesthetic, in and out of the doctor's office. By the way he's whining, you would think he just had major surgery. He's on the couch, and it sounds like a heard of cows are grazing in my living room. "Cath, whatcha doin'?", "Cath, do we have any Motrin?", "Cath, can you get me a drink?", "Caaaaaath", Moooooooooo....
Apparently, the table I set up for him beside the couch, with the drink, the Motrin, the TV remote, the newspaper, etc. isn't enough. He wants me to actually hand him everything. "Caaaath, The Planet of the Apes marathon is on." "Caaaaath, the dog needs out." "Caaaaaaath, where are you?"
Like a beached whale, he's sending out his call for help. Moby is about to get harpooned. Just call me Ahab.
Why was I able to give birth to a human being the size of a Buick, and survive, but my husband gets his toenail fixed and can barely see through all the pain?
I refuse to be held hostage by his big toe any longer. Today I take back the remote, and by that act, free women everywhere from the tyranny of the big girls laying on our couches whining for dinner.
The whale has been drug back into the ocean, and I'm ordering a pizza!
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