Now That He’s Gonna Live, I Kinda Want to Kill Him

Shock and surprise: men are stupid babies when they’re sick. They whine, they sniffle, they insist no one has ever been as sick as they are right now. It doesn’t matter in the least that YOU were this sick with the EXACT SAME THING a week ago, there’s no way your bout with the crud was as deadly as theirs.

At my mom’s insistence, I went to the doctor last week to find out that the thing that was making me sound like a three-pack-a-day smoker who had developed tuberculosis and bubonic plague was actually just a viral crud. Didn’t even get a shot of antibiotics.

But when my husband came down with it and I talked him out of driving all the way to Atlanta to check himself into the CDC, he discovered something different: it was just a viral crud. Wait, that’s not different at all. That’s exactly what I found out. He called me from the pharmacy where he was waiting for his prescriptions, and it didn’t matter that I could describe his medications AND the doctor’s neck tie, even though I hadn’t been within twenty miles of the clinic at the time.

ME: “Lemme guess, he checked your blood work and said it was viral, then gave you four prescriptions.”

HIM: “Yeah, but these aren’t the same four prescriptions you got.”

ME: “You got Alleve, Zyrtec, some steroids, and a coughing pill.”

HIM: “No! So there, smarty pants.” (Only it sounded like “Tho-there, sthmarty pahts,” because he’s stuffed up.)

ME: “Those are the every day names for them. They have different druggie names. And you also got a shot.”

HIM: “Ha! You’re wrong! I got TWO shots!”

ME: “It was the same shot, dufus! You just got two doses, one in each hip!”

HIM: silence

ME: “Right?”

HIM: “When I get home with my steroids, I’m gonna roid rage on you.”

ME: “Good luck, buddy, I’ve been on my steroids for a week. I will fold you like a cheap road map.”

HIM: “I want ice cream.”

ME: “Then you might want to buy some while you’re at the store.”