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.
That's right.
Cramps.
But not just any cramps.
Special 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.
7 comments:
I Thinks She Still Likes Me?!
Oh, bless his heart!!! Now get out of the way Ster...she is busy helping ME! CRAMPS?! I'll give YOU CRAMPS!!!
Lis, I'm soooo glad you are blessed with as much COMPASSION as I am when it comes to tenderly taking care of sick family members!
Do I need to send over the blessed HALLOWEEN bucket?
Now wait ... is this the SAME person that while PUSHING YOUR FREAKING GUTS OUT as a CHILD IS RIPPING IT'S way out of YOUR WOMB said ...
I have a TERRIBLE headache - you have NO IDEA how BAD THIS HEADACHE IS, LIS. It's SOOOOOOOOOO bad! OHHH The PAIN ... THE PAIN, LIS. IT"S SOOOOOOOO bad! Can you FEEL the pain in my head (as you rip in 2!!!!!)
Ohhh - yes. Same person. And no, Ster- I DON"T think she still likes you right now. :) Bless YOUR heart! :)
Oh my H, Boo. I FORGOT about the "much worse than child birth headache." Must have blocked it in order to stay married to him. And next time he screams CRAMPS, I'm sending him over to you, anony. I'm making pie crusts. I don't have time for tolerance and love.
Oh my gosh. Didn't anybody ever tell you that when you put "man" and "sick" together, everything is SO MUCH WORSE?! Man-sick is a truly debilitating disease, requiring the man to moan and groan and whinge and complain and be on the very verge of death.. lucky for us females the exact same sickness does not affect us nearly so badly. Nay, we may feel a twinge and be over it. Poor, poor men.
Yes, poor, poor, man-sick men. He actually was mad at me for not "enjoying" his melodramatic shivering last night. Ah, good times.
OH my gosh ... MAN SICK! That is THE best term! SOOO great!
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