A Surprisingly Sane Blog

Explain this one to me, please.

Men  (yeah, I know, a loaded statement within itself).  They can pick bloated ticks off dogs and step on them without cringing.  They sniff farts for fun.  Poop is their favorite subject to discuss.  They punch each other and “play fight” with their friends, then proudly show off their bruises (idiots) later.  They tug and pull and yank and jerk at a very sensitive part of their body for pleasure (holy shit, if we did that to our boobs… ow!).  They go off to war and fight proudly while surviving through extreme temperatures, sexual frustration, near death experiences, and watching their best friends die in horrible agony.

So why is it **insert dramatic sigh** the SECOND they have a little bit of a sore throat, or a 1-degree fever, or a flippin’ hangnail that suddenly, they try to run home to mama and hibernate while the end of the world busts around their precious little ears?  Whining and groaning about how their nose is stuffed up and how they are so sick that they’re going **to die**.

And then, of course, they expect their mama-figure (aka wife or significant other) to wipe their nose, cook them chicken noodle soup from scratch and spoon feed it to them, and bring in the priest to bless them while they cough dramatically and start whispering about how they’re going home to the light any second.

Ugh, it’s pathetic.  Cry me a freakin’ river and gag me with a pitch fork.

Excuse me, eh hem, I clean the toilet scum and dust the furniture and take care of two needy little boogers day and night and still manage to wipe my own ass when I’m sick.

Why is it that on the rare occasion that I finally admit I am not feeling well because I caught the kids’ *really nasty cold* and need to take some time out to rest because my head feels like it’s swimming through a swamp of green slime that all hell breaks loose ?  By the end of the day, my husband is collapsing from exhaustion and moaning about how sick he is simply because he had to help around the house for three fucking hours.

Dude, I birthed two living, breathing human beings out of my vagina without any pain medication whatsoever, healed from a serious tear that went straight through the muscle, and managed to nourish those two little creatures from my bleeding nipples for crying out loud.

Unless an elephant with razor-sharp spikes is busting out of your anus and tearing it in half, do not expect sympathy from me, okay?

Current Mood: Angry

This entry was posted on Sunday, March 8th, 2009 at 11:21 am and is filed under Angry, Bitching. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.