I'm sick. The puking kind of sick. I know that no one likes to puke, but I hate it. Hate it. I threw up so hard last night that I blew out the capillaries around both of my eyes and on my forehead. I am lookin' gooooood.
But, I'm not here to complain about that. I am here to ask a question.
Why don't husbands care that you care sick?
Why do they expect dinner to be ready and the clothes to be washed and the floors to be swept? Why, oh why, don't they HELP ME WHEN IT IS CLEARLY OBVIOUS THAT I AM IN NO CONDITION TO COOK OR DO LAUNDRY. In fact, I shouldn't even be handling food when I am sick. That is just asking for a household full of pukesters. And, I do not need that.
The Bean is a jewel. Taking care of me hand and foot, worried about me, wiping my brow, bringing me Sprite. I raised that boy right. When his wife is sick. I know he will care.
Poor pitiful me.
I'll be back with stories of a Church Sale and an Illusionist. Puking doesn't keep me home....