Friday, February 8, 2013

Bullshit


I can always tell when any type of illness my husband has had is on its way out of his system…and he’s not happy about it.

 

My first hint is the hacking noises that come from down the hallway as I’m in the kitchen, running around like the devoted houseskank that I am, fixing the kids’ breakfasts/lunches/dinners/playing boardgames/playdough/cleaning up snot/etc., all while getting ready for work.  Whatever I’m doing, though, if I hear that horking sound, I drop everything and run into our master bath.

 

Not because I want to help the hubs, of course. But because I think it’s all bullshit, and I want proof.

 

The last time it happened, I found him at the toilet, coughing.  I could tell it wasn’t going to produce anything, but he was doubled over, retching, one eye open and on me.

 

I waited, hands on hips.  He wiped his mouth.

 

“What are you wiping?” I asked.  “Nothing came out.”

 

He pointed into the toilet.  “There’s a little spit right there,” he managed to rasp, even though I knew his throat couldn’t have been that damned dry because I’d just finished refilling his asshole water glass (“Lots of ice, please!”) five minutes prior.

 

“Yeah, but where’s the puke?”

 

“What do you mean, ‘Where’s the puke?’” he asked, taking pains to kneel down and then look up at me, huge drops of drool dripping from his lip.  Nice touch, really. 

 

“I mean I haven’t heard the toilet flush yet, and I don’t see any puke in there,” I clarified.

 

He looked at me, eyes narrowed into an indignant can’t-you-see-that-I’m-dying-here? look, and then I saw the corners of his mouth twitch—because, you see, the bastard was trying not to smile.

 

“Okay,” he said, “okay.  I didn’t throw up.  But I thought I was going to.  I’m lucky I made it because all of this spit came up—do you see it?”  He pointed into the toilet again, where the water was the exact same color as the supposed puke-spit.

 

“I don’t,” I answered.  “And remember my rule about the flushing.”

 

“Whatever, asshole,” he replied before shuffling back to bed.

 

He knows the rules.  Years of teaching grade school in a former life taught me the cardinal sickie rule:  If you’re going to come back to the classroom having claimed to puke, you’d better be damned sure you didn’t flush that toilet.  Because if I don’t see any chunks, you ain’t headed home, kiddo.  And don’t try to call the union on me:  That rule was taught to me by my first principal and upheld in every teaching job I’d ever had.  They must teach it at some principal’s conference.

 

I figure if it works for Kindergartners, it’ll work for the hubs, so I use the same rule.  But I gave him a pass for the clear toilet this time, because he actually had been sick the previous two days.  And during those two days, I’d witnessed the productive heaving.

 

What I decided to do while he was playing sick was write down every single thing he said (or shouted pitifully from the other room) to me because I could tell, after the first few wretched lines, that it would make a great blog post.  You guys—I kept putting my Harriet the Spy blogging pen and paper down, only to have to get right back up and retrieve them.  Finally I just started carrying them around with me.  So many times, I silently laughed so hard that my shoulders were shaking and tears were running down my face as I ran into the other room to write what he’d just said down before I forgot.  It’s just that the lines were coming so fast…

 

Normally I don’t have a problem laughing at the hubs in front of him, but this time, I couldn’t let on about what I was doing because I was afraid that he’d stop saying things.

 

And just to clarify:  You may have noticed from past posts that I am prone to a shitload of exaggeration.  My posts always start with at least a teensy seed of truth, but then when I mull it over in my brain, different ideas come at me that take on a life of their own when I go to organize and write a post.

 

But I can honestly tell you that every single thing he said to me—everything reported in this post—truly came out of his mouth.  And don’t think I’m a total bitch, because he seriously was not that sick.  He was getting over a 2-day real sick affair where I completely babied him, and he wanted that treatment to last.

 

Without further ado, I present the shit that the hubs actually said when he was sick, and the stuff that I thought about saying back.  We’ll start with a mild one, but trust me, they get increasingly better:

 

1. “Oh my gosh, I think I’m dying…” Said as he grappled with our preschooler for the remote.  Obviously he had enough energy to watch ESPN, the asshole.

 

2. “Oh, I’ve got the shivers!”  This one came along with the sound of a blanket rustling.  You’d be surprised how loud those blankets can be when one is determined to make his unsympathetic wife hear them.

 

3. “So cold…so cold…”

 

4. “[High falsetto]I think I’m puking.”  What the eff do you mean, you think you’re puking?  Because I can assure you that you’re not. You’re still in the exact same spot on the couch as you have been for the last 10 hours, watching Phineas and Ferb.  When I asked him to clarify, he said, “I mean, I’m not, but I feel like I could.”  Oh.  Okay, then.

 

5. “I feel some spit starting to gather.”  It’s called swallowing, fatass.  Apparently you’ve gotten your appetite back, as I see that you’re currently gorging on a damned hot dog.

 

6. “When is this ever going to end?  Um, when you stop faking and get off the damned couch, that’s when.

 

7. “It’s like I can’t do anything.  Can’t eat, can’t drink, can’t get off the couch...”  Can’t act…

 

8. “My stomach doesn’t hurt as bad anymore, but now my head is starting to hurt.”  Of course it is.  And by the way:  Join the damned club.

 

9. “I probably need to eat something, but the only thing that sounds good is chicken noodle soup, and I puked it up last night and a noodle came out of my nose.”  I remember.  You showed it to me.  I’m still not convinced, however, that it was from puking.  I think you broke off a little piece, stuck it into a rumpled Kleenex, and then offered it to me as further “proof” of your “illness.”

 

10.  When he started to get his appetite back, lines like this were hurled at me:

 

“Sonic is having a special on footlong hot dogs.  I saw it on t.v.  Mmm…ice cream sounds good, too. Or Taco Bell.”  When he looked up and saw me watching him and knew I was going to say something about how getting your appetite back means you’re feeling better, he cut me off at the hilt with this:  “But I’m not sure if I should eat since there’s still a slight burning in the bottom of my stomach.”

 

11.  "I’ve been blowing my nose so much that I just blew a little blood out with the snot.  Do you want to see it?”  No.

 

12.   “So much blood…” This was as he threw yet another Kleenex into the trash can.

 

13.   When he finally decided that he was well enough to go to Sonic, he brought back food for the family.  “Where’s yours?” I asked, noticing that he was empty-handed after it was all passed out.

 

I got another well-practiced pitiful look.  “I ate it on the way home.  I made sure I got the blandest thing they have on the menu—a grilled chicken sandwich. I don’t even think it had mayonnaise on it.”  I knew this tactic.  Since I wasn’t buying into the sick routine, now I was supposed to give him sympathy for choosing a bland meal item from Sonic’s menu because he was afraid he might get sick again.

 

14.   Five minutes later:

 

“My stomach is roooooolling.  Hm.  That could be, of course, because you snarfed the blandest item on the menu in under five minutes.

 

15.   Five minutes after that:

 

“I THINK it might stay down.”  Holy shit, still?  We’re still  doing this?

 

16.   When I had finally put the kids to bed and placated the hubs with some sympathetic looks, I poured myself a well-earned glass of a new wine I’d been wanting to try and mentioned that I had finally found it.  As I sat on the couch next to the hubs, ready to enjoy some DVR’d Offices, that bastard had the nerve to turn to me and say, “Don’t brag just because you get to have a drink and I don’t because my stomach won’t be able to handle it.”

 

Assclown.

 

You might be wondering why I never said the things that I’d thought to my dear sweet husband.  Well, peeps, here it is—full disclosure:  It’s because I’m about a million times worse than he is when I’m sick.

 

Of course, I’m not faking my stuff.  J

 
 
While you're here, my peeps, I'd love it if you'd take a second to click on the Circle of Moms button in the upper right-hand of my sidebar and vote for me.  I can't make my family and friends do it because they don't know I write this blog--I've got to stay anonymous, and they have some of the biggest mouths in the world.  Because of that (or because my stuff sucks a fat one), I'm not way high up on the list, but any little votes kind of make my day.  (So feel free to share my blog link anywhere so I can get more votes!)  Thaaaaaaaaaanks.

 

10 comments:

  1. I am so going through the same thing! My husband has a man cold that is threatening to claim his life. The only things that make him feel better are back rubs and sex. I get it, I mean, isn't that what we all want when we have a deadly virus making us want to retch?
    PS. I've been voting for you!

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    1. Back rubs--yes
      Sex--puke me
      But that's just how I roll. Haha

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  2. I am loving this blog, you are so funny! Men are big babies when they are sick. My big Army stud acts like he can't walk from a sinus infection... hmmm
    Carrie @ Just Mildly Medicated

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    1. His started out as some kind of stomach virus, and that was the one that I believed. But when it ran for 3 days and I stopped seeing any results (puke, diarrhea, etc.), that's when I stopped believing. He said the same thing: "It must be some kind of a sinus infection now." Uh-huh. :)

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  3. OMG, you are freaking hilarious!!!

    What is WITH men when they get sick, anyway? So, so painful...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I know!! If we ever end up with the same thing, it always takes him twice as long to recover! Haha

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    2. And thanks, by the way! You are, too! Love your blog.

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  4. #s 6, 8, and 15 - love! So much drama. My Hubby goes to bed at, like, 8:00 when he's sick. I can't remember the last time I went to bed that early or slept that much.

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    Replies
    1. My hubs goes to bed at 8:00 on a normal night! He simply doeesn't get out of bed AT ALL when he's "sick." :) Thanks for visiting--I'm a follower of your blog and really enjoy reading your stuff!

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