Gee, honey. Are you sick?
I never would have guessed.
When a man is sick, he isn’t just sick, he invented sick. He moans, whimpers, groans, shuffles, sniffles and otherwise makes sure the world knows that he is very, very sick.
Here’s my theory on why they do this, from the chapter in my upcoming book on the subject:
While no one is saying you should feign sympathy when your guy is sick, at least keep in mind that it’s not his fault he’s a big, fat pansy-ass. He’s inherently not good at managing discomfort because he hasn’t been groomed for it virtually since birth the way you have. Between wrangling your pendulous breasts into a constricting, wire-trimmed undergarment on a daily basis, regularly having thousands of tiny hairs ripped off of your body with strips of molten wax, repeatedly wedging your mostly flat and clearly rectangular-shaped feet into triangular footwear perched on top of twin four-inch spikes, and let’s not forget occasionally pushing another human being the size and shape of a large watermelon (sorry, a watermelon with shoulders) out of your vagina—or alternately, having the watermelon-person or people pulled out through a man-made gash in your abdomen—you know what pain is. And it’s not a little tickle in the back of your throat or a blocked freaking nostril.
What I want to know is: How do you deal with him? Do you pamper him? Ignore him? Send him to his mother’s?
Please. Share.
How wrong is that I don’t feel like doing anything for HIM, because when I’m sick, nothing is done for ME? Why should I bend over backwards to take care of him, when I still have to cook, clean, change diapers, and work? But, I will get him drinks and food. Can’t have him flat out die on me, can I?
Comment by Mandi — March 17, 2010 @ 11:31 am
OMG! Are they all the same!? Just this week I heard… AHHH I am soooo sick… AHHH, I don’t feeeeeellllll goooood.. What’s the matter? I don’t knoooow… well I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong. I siiiiick. I think I have a feeeeever. I don’t feeeel good.
That is the typical conversation that I have had with my husband for the past 30 years. After 30 years, my end of the conversation has changed. I start by trying to be helpful but draw the line if he chooses not to help himself and I make no bones in telling him exactly that.
This past week hubby had just returned from an out of town business trip and a few days later you would have though he had a stage four end of life disease. He insisted he got sick flying, my interpretation was that he had allergies like the rest of the world, resulting in a congested head and throat drainage. Is it pleasant? No. But it is totally maneageable and guess what, the world does go on even if you have cough cough, sniffles.
So I brought out the 24 hour allergy pills… Oh where did you get those… Ah the magical place in the bathroom called the MEDICINE CABINET. And I brought out the throat losengers plus the vicks. Put a little dab inside your nostril and it will help to clear your head. What does he do? SMEARS a glob under his nose.
5 minutes later he appears in the door way saying MY EYES, I got it in MY EYES, the Fumes…. omg!!! wHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?? I told you, a dab in each nostril why on earth did you smear it across your face? I had to blow my nose and I must have rubbed my eye….
I told him I thought it was a personal spastic issue and I couldn’t help him any more.
I liked him better when he had pneumonia. At least then he was so sick he was quiet.
Some days it’s just too taxing and you need to leave the house and spend the day shopping with a good friend.
Comment by Teri Hurley — March 17, 2010 @ 11:46 am
Who wouldn’t like a little pampering when we’re not feeling well? I offer juice, tissues, cold medicine, a cozy bed and DVDs. Sure, most men get over dramatic when they’re sick, but a little TLC goes a long way.
Comment by Janet — March 17, 2010 @ 4:37 pm
Geez, I’m glad I’m not the only one that has noticed this alarming behavior. How can a guy that is 6′ tall, that plays basketball for hours like he is one of The 400 of Sparta (fighting to the death!), and who relishes regaling others with his tales of battles on the rough streets of Oakland turn into a Pamper wearing infant at the first sign of a cough? I swear, he practically swoons as he falls out on the couch, too weak to even reach for or mash the buttons on the remote! “Honey, can you change the channel to ESPN for me so I can watch The Lakers?”
The real killer is when he has a cold and stuffs the ends of tissues into his nostrils so that they hang down like white flags of surrender. He thinks its functional and remembers doing that when he was 12. Was I dreaming…how can this be the sexy hunk I lusted over last week?
I think men love to be sick because it gives them an excuse to revert to childhood.
Comment by Deborrah — March 17, 2010 @ 4:58 pm