2:30 p.m. The Husband goes in for not one but TWO root canals.
4:30 p.m. Begin to wonder will he be in pain? Will he be able to chew normal foods? Should I go to the store and get soup? Make mashed potatoes? Oh, my POOR HUSBAND... (ugh)
4:45 p.m. Walk to the store to get root canal-friendly foods. (Assuming I know what that might consist of.)
5:00 p.m. Browse the aisles at the grocery store. Get frustrated with too-chunky soup offerings. Debate over a million different things. Continue to worry about my "poor" husband.
5:30 p.m. Arrive home and immediately put a pot of water on to boil and begin preparing potatoes. Think he should be home within the hour. Worry. Feel bad. Think about cleaning the entire house and doing his laundry.
5:35 p.m. Realize I received a text message from said husband thirty minutes ago. It says, "Just leaving and going to the bar."
5:36 p.m. Decide to never make mashed potatoes for that jerk again.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
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12 comments:
It's what we're wired to do.
Kill the pain with beer.
But ya know what? It's a razors edge between the machismo and the wanting to be mothered.
I'm soooo glad I'm not a chick.
LMAO!!!!
LOL!! That is so him!!!
Yeah, we numb the pain by numbing our common sense!
-Chris
Weather Moose
PS - What were you confused about on my blog?
Oy. Doll -- from now on, you make mashed potatoes for you and only you.
LOL - thanks for the chuckle this morning!
I've had a root canal or two. I'm pretty sure the booze/painkiller combo isn't on the recommended liquid diet. But he's a guy. He can't help it.
I think I'd prefer that to the whiney, sick guy who really needs his mother. Drunk husband is annoying. Husband in pain is worse. Drunk husband in pain is hell.
How did this happen? I have missed 4 posts! I changed the old link on my blog list but now I don't get to see when you have a new post up. Grrr...
Mmmmmm.... mashed potatoes.
I haven't been here in a while. I have to say that husband of yours needs to count his blessings that he has someone who cares enough to make him mashed potatoes.
Oh, boy, that annoys the heck out of me when I'm doing all that wifely worrying and my husband says something like, "Why are you making such a big deal out of it?" Grrrr.
I say pelt him with the potatoes and steal his painkillers.
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