Last Wednesday, Ross told me he had a sore throat. Whenever he mentions he’s ailing I tend to roll my eyes and give him a big, sarcastic “Oh reeeeeeeally” and move on to something else. I know, I know…I’m not winning any “wife of the year” awards for my lack of spousal sympathy. But 8 times out of 10, his “sore throat” magically disappears within a few hours.
Well wasn’t I surprised when the boy who cried wolf actually saw the wolf this time and wound up with a nasty flu that, 7 days later, is still hanging on. Despite the “men act like babies when they’re sick” theory, I have to say that when he actually is sick, Ross does a pretty good job of hangin’ tough. Even so, I thought it was time I made up for my usual sarcastic brush off and happily showered him with all of the sympathy I could muster: the obligatory trip to the store for NyQuil and Chicken Noodle Soup; staying back from our traditional Thursday Office gathering to keep him company at home; I even let him have a turn with my beloved Snuggie. That’s love, people.
However, aside from several well-placed “thank you”s, you know what I got for all of the up-close and personal time I gave to my husband?
I got sick.
Do you know how much mucus the average healthy female produces on a given day? No? Me either. But I can tell you for sure that I’m currently pumpin’ out at least 5x the normal quota. The amount of environmental damage I’ve caused from tissue usage alone should put me on some kind of government watch list. If you shop at the same Target as me I’ll apologize now for the empty shelves in Aisle 16. I’m pretty sure I’ve taken all they’ve got.
4 days into my version of this sickness I’m more certain than ever that we weren’t kidding when we promised to share our lives and be there “in sickness and in health”.
Oh yeah, we’re there.
Isn’t sharing fun?