(He also rolls–when not sick–long, thin, flimsy ear-cleaners out of tissues and leaves them lying around. I cannot for the life of me imagine how they do any good as substitute Q-tips, but they are CHEAP! Anyone else’s husband do this?)

But I digress: If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Being prone to occasional bouts of nausea and v-ing*, which I hate more than almost any other type of ailment, I one day tried making the horrific noise DH does when vomiting. To my surprise, it helped me get the v-ing over, and thus end the suffering, much faster than I would have otherwise. I am going to use it again. Better than a finger down my throat.

The sound also brought DH to the bathroom door in consternation. He seemed to be afraid that I might die! In the middle of v-ing, I had to reassure him that I wouldn’t, and I also had to choose whether to join in the usual conversation he starts whenever I am ill (during which we hash over “what food could have brought on the trouble this time”–and I know he will never let me eat whatever it is in peace again), or else to repeatedly moan, “Oh, no, please! I just can’t bear to think about food right now.” (It takes several repetitions and he is only appeased by assurances that I am quite willing to take the subject up some other time.

It feels to good to get these things off my chest to an understanding audience! I’ve enjoyed the blog and all your comments!

*Middle letters left out in affectionate memory of my dear mother, who could not bear to hear even this medical term, much less “barf” or “upchuck”!

I assume you’ve seen this vide before. A perfect example of a sick man. My husband, and I believe almost every husband I know (not all mine) are the same. My husband sometimes does the beanie thing but he layers his clothes, walks around with his shoulders hunched, as though that will help get better, and takes my hand, places it on his forehead and says “do I have a fever?” He then coughs exaggeratedly and loudly all day. If I suggest he take something or go see the doctor he says “I don’t want to know what’s wrong with me”.

They’re all the same. They’re a special breed. We women, if we want to be sick we have to book ourselves into a hotel room all alone because no one else in the house is going to care. We instinctively know that so we don’t bother informing anyone else. We know it’s pointless because they are going to be suffering something far worse than could ever strike us. They won’t even be sick until we are then it will be something they’re likely to die from.

I’m also happy to say that thanks to your comments, I have revised all comments on “tobagans” to read “beanies” as apparently all other people on earth refer to this type of hat.

It feels good to be normal for once. he he he