Here's a hint. He's the same person who, on Christmas Eve several years ago, and with a house full of tiny tots with a FERVENT belief in the magic of St. Nick, when sent by his harried and hurried wife to the store a half hour before closing time for AAAALLLLLLLL of the Santa Clause stocking stuffers~and by all, I mean every single item to fill the Christmas stockings, as there was not a single, solitary thing that had been purchased for said stockings~came back home EMPTY HANDED because...prepare to furrow your brows in concern...he had cramps.
But not just any cramps.
The kind of special cramps that made him leave his full cart in the middle of the aisle as he burst out of the store and flew home, throwing himself writhing and moaning on the bed in LOUD, OBNOXIOUS, "I'M DYING, LIS. SERIOUSLY, THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH PAIN I'M IN. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW BAD THIS IS, LISA. SOMETHING IS REALLY, REALLY WRONG. I MEAN IT. I THINK I MIGHT NEED TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL~(Moan, Writhe, Grunt, Groan)" pain~as his long-suffering wife continued the wrapping and baking and perfection making that is called Christmas.
The kind of special cramps that sent this wife on a journey to her happy place, so that she didn't charge him like a wild, snorting bull, slapping and slugging and knee to the groin-ing...which would probably have culminated in first degree homicide charges...something she would have been more than happy to perform, if it wouldn't have put such a damper on the evenings festivities...almost as bad as empty stockings on Christmas morn.
The kind of special cramps that, had he just listened to his wife when she, with furious fists on hips, flames shooting out of eye sockets and jaw clenched with grinding teeth~hissed~ "You just need to go POOH, dear." (The dear part wasn't very sincere~or tender sounding) If he'd just listened to her...suggestion...these special cramps might have passed at least a half hour sooner.
And pass they did, just exactly as his dear wife suggested.
About five minutes after the store closed.
So have you figured out who it is that is sick (dying)...right here...with me...all day long? (He just came into the room in his underwear and sat down to cough and sniff and whimper. Endearing, bless his heart.)
If you don't know by now, you're not as bright as I once thought you to be.
Bless your heart.