...I think I'd have learned a little something by now.
The Big Boy is sick. (All the women just X'd out. They know where this is going.) Now I'll give you...he IS sick...really sick for an adult. He ran between a 101 and 103 fever for three days, had violent intestinal issues and didn't eat a bite for two full days. He's 6'5" and nearly 50 years old, and lost 11 pounds in three days...he's sick.
But he went to the doctor Friday (the Sunday night brushetta with mozzarella, basil and OH YEAH! raw tomatoes! sort of necessitated that) and we know it's viral. He's been drinking water all along. He ain't gonna die.
Unless he pisses me off ONE MORE TIME with his total invalid-ness and I ram that thermometer through an eye socket and into his (obviously) empty brain cavity.
He is too weak to lift his own thermometer. Now, I haven't WEIGHED one of those babies lately, and this one IS a super-de-dooper digitalized model but hey...I don't see needing a professional trainer to get you into shape in order to lift this model to your mouth. If you'd take a little bit of that energy you are expending with your GROANING and direct it toward an upwards motion with your arm...you might get that thermometer up. Maybe.
He is ALSO too weak to answer me when I ask him a question. Now, if I were that sick, upstairs in a two-story home and dependent on someone else to bring me food and water, I DON'T THINK I'D BE PISSING OFF THE CAREGIVER. And not answering complicated queries, you know, like "Do you want more water?", might just jump up and bite you on the ass. There's a window unit in that bedroom and I'm GUESSING you might could live off the condensation falling from the back but if I were you...I DON'T THINK I'D GO THERE. It is, after all, a second story window. And we are fast approaching Accidents Happen There.
He also desperately needs food, but doesn't know what that might be and it HASN'T been anything we've fixed. The chicken soup was too greasy (it's a CHICKEN. Chickens have chicken FAT.), the cheese toast was too cheesy, the ramen noodles were too ramen-y. We had fettucine for supper last night and it was too rich...the home-made bread was too yeasty...the fruit was wonderful but it was too acid.
And did I mention in here somewhere that...BY THE WAY! The Big Boy's wife had major surgery TWO WEEKS AGO? As in, a complete hysterectomy after two c-sections which makes for interesting surgical techniques? They sent me home after 24-hours and I cooked supper the next night. No questions asked. And I was even able to get my voice to a suitable decibel-level so that I could BE HEARD.
Sigh***. He got up this morning, threw up for the first time, and headed off to work anyway. I'm thinking HE'S thinking, he passes out there and they'll pick him up. Or at least call for help. He passes out here? We'll just substitute him for the elliptical trainer in the bedroom and hang clothes off of him.
The Big Boy is sick. (All the women just X'd out. They know where this is going.) Now I'll give you...he IS sick...really sick for an adult. He ran between a 101 and 103 fever for three days, had violent intestinal issues and didn't eat a bite for two full days. He's 6'5" and nearly 50 years old, and lost 11 pounds in three days...he's sick.
But he went to the doctor Friday (the Sunday night brushetta with mozzarella, basil and OH YEAH! raw tomatoes! sort of necessitated that) and we know it's viral. He's been drinking water all along. He ain't gonna die.
Unless he pisses me off ONE MORE TIME with his total invalid-ness and I ram that thermometer through an eye socket and into his (obviously) empty brain cavity.
He is too weak to lift his own thermometer. Now, I haven't WEIGHED one of those babies lately, and this one IS a super-de-dooper digitalized model but hey...I don't see needing a professional trainer to get you into shape in order to lift this model to your mouth. If you'd take a little bit of that energy you are expending with your GROANING and direct it toward an upwards motion with your arm...you might get that thermometer up. Maybe.
He is ALSO too weak to answer me when I ask him a question. Now, if I were that sick, upstairs in a two-story home and dependent on someone else to bring me food and water, I DON'T THINK I'D BE PISSING OFF THE CAREGIVER. And not answering complicated queries, you know, like "Do you want more water?", might just jump up and bite you on the ass. There's a window unit in that bedroom and I'm GUESSING you might could live off the condensation falling from the back but if I were you...I DON'T THINK I'D GO THERE. It is, after all, a second story window. And we are fast approaching Accidents Happen There.
He also desperately needs food, but doesn't know what that might be and it HASN'T been anything we've fixed. The chicken soup was too greasy (it's a CHICKEN. Chickens have chicken FAT.), the cheese toast was too cheesy, the ramen noodles were too ramen-y. We had fettucine for supper last night and it was too rich...the home-made bread was too yeasty...the fruit was wonderful but it was too acid.
And did I mention in here somewhere that...BY THE WAY! The Big Boy's wife had major surgery TWO WEEKS AGO? As in, a complete hysterectomy after two c-sections which makes for interesting surgical techniques? They sent me home after 24-hours and I cooked supper the next night. No questions asked. And I was even able to get my voice to a suitable decibel-level so that I could BE HEARD.
Sigh***. He got up this morning, threw up for the first time, and headed off to work anyway. I'm thinking HE'S thinking, he passes out there and they'll pick him up. Or at least call for help. He passes out here? We'll just substitute him for the elliptical trainer in the bedroom and hang clothes off of him.
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