Husbandsickness


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Husbandsickness . . . Or Sick of My Husband?

A terrible thing happened the other day. My husband was struck down by tuberculosis, small pox and the bubonic plague all at once. Actually, it was a mild case of food poisoning (NO, I did not do it!), but you would have thought that the Grim Reaper was lying in wait outside our door by the way he was acting. Covers pulled up to his eyeballs, four layers of clothing and unable to answer with much more than a grunt, some would have called a priest for The Last Rites. Being his wife, however, my thoughts were anything but blessed . . .

In a recent study conducted by The Center for Wives Who Think Husbands Are Wusses, (located in my computer), the results were unanimous . . . Wives think husbands are wusses. While he was hovering near death, I entered a moms’ chatroom I frequent and threw out the question, "If given the choice, would you rather play nursemaid to an ill husband or get poked in the eye with a sharp stick?". The response was fast and furious, and had I been being literal, I would have run out of sharp sticks. Dialogue scrolled by so quickly, it was hard to keep up...."My husband is worse than any baby when he gets sick . . .", "I would rather have all three kids get sick at once than have him to take care of . . .", "My husband loses all ability to function if he even gets the sniffles . . ." , "Where is my sharp stick . . .?".

Now I was not surprised at the results of my poll, rather, I expected them. Regardless of race, color, or creed the same scenario is played out all over the world. Husband gets sick, world stops turning. For the duration of the malady, a man will shut out all outside influences and convalesce behind drawn shades. This comatose state will be interrupted only to seek out attention from his wife, "Honnnnnnnnnnneyyyyyyyyyy, am I warm?" "Helllllloooooooooo? Can you get me some 7up? Cough, Cough, Hack Hack." "Whhhheeeeeerrrrree’s the remote?".

Most of us women will cater for the first day. It’s just that inherent "mothering instinct". Plus, despite what most men believe, we do not actually want them to suffer. Day two? The tide begins to change. Requests for Jell-o take longer to be filled. Stirring the bubbles out of his 7Up almost bends the spoon. And as for the remote control’s whereabouts . . . WE HOPE YOU NEVER FIND IT UNDER THAT TANGLE OF SWEATY SHEETS YOU HAVE CREATED THAT HAVE THE WHOLE ROOM SMELLING LIKE A . . .(deep breath) . . . sorry about that.

Why the hostility, you of the Y chromosome ask? I’ll explain. You see, as a wife and mother, we are not allowed to get sick. Oh sure, we might get the sniffles, the flu, the runs, the plague.....BUT IT DOES NOT MATTER! When WE get sick, the world does not stop turning, children do not stop being hungry or going to soccer practice, babies do not stop pooping!

The last time I got the flu, I had an audience outside the bathroom door for every performance of "It Came From The Deep"! My need to lie down was constantly challenged by their need to have me stand up----try making a peanut butter sandwich from bed! Can’t happen! Due to my ghastly pallor, they cast me in their rendition of The Little Mermaid as Ursula.....and I WAS GOOD! My husband’s only concession to my illness was that he made dinner ( he MADE the phone call to Pizza Hut).

Face it, women just aren’t afforded the opportunity to be wusses. Perhaps, therein lies the lesson for all of us, X’s and Y’s alike. If wives did not allow their husbands to disappear from the face of the earth when sick, and husbands actually picked up the slack when their wives were ill, then maybe, just maybe . . . yeah right . . . anyone seen my sharp stick?

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