His Sick Versus Mine

Let me set the tone here.

This is my husband sick

And this is me sick with bronchitis

Note the differences? There are several. Beginning with the fact that I am upright most of the duration of any illness while my husband is prone for a period before, then during and a period of time after.

You'll also notice that he isn't doing anything but "dying" a slow nonactual death. I, on the other hand, am cleaning, cooking and pretty much doing what I do every single day. I have learned it doesn't get done by itself and there are no fairies that are coming to do it in the still of the night. Damn Fairies! There is a much better chance of pigs flying out of my butt before anyone, but me, does it. You can bank on that one!

Am I bitter? Damn skippy I'm bitter! I was asked once if I needed anything. One single time in 48 hours. What makes it worse is that if I drop dead, they will step up and do what needs to be done. The fact that I am still breathing translates in to some twisted game of mental chicken to see you breaks first to do the simpliest of tasks.

I'm not asking my husband to do everything, but damn do a load of laundry. If he is going to pop an artery doing one freaking load of clothes, then I want to see it happen. I demand to see the aftermath of emptying the dishwasher or making dinner. He takes off work to "help me", but ends up either surfing the internet or sleeping on the sofa.

Now that the man baby is sick, with what can only be described as sounding like Derek Zoolander's black lung, I get to sit and watch him suffer. I swear he sounds like Zoolander, "he he he, Pop I think I have the black lung". I hope this doesn't take long.