Can you stand one more story about sick males, this one from contemporary times?
A woman has just come home from the hospital with her fourth child. Her older three children all have chickenpox. Her mate decides he has contracted chickenpox as well, though he had already had it as a child.
Husband: (Coughs pitifully) I think I'm coming down with the pox.
Wife: (Patiently) But darling, you had chickenpox as a child. You can't get it again.
Husband: (Snarls) Just when did you get your medical degree?
Wife: Why, I got my medical degree in between pregnancies, nursing, more pregnancies, more nursing, and bringing home YOUR fourth child.
Husband: (Backing off, hands raised) There's no need to get nasty.
Wife: (Sweetly) Who's being nasty? I'm simply answering your question as to when I got my medical degree. Now get off your keester and do the laundry you've been saving up for me.
Husband: (Meekly) Yes, dear. I think I'm feeling better already.
Gem for the day: Sometimes you have to use tough love.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Friday, July 26, 2013
Day 224, July 26
More about males with malaise:
The phenomenon of males unable to handle the barest of sniffles dates back to caveman times.
I imagine the conversation between the stricken cave-male and his long suffering cave-mate went something like this:
Caveman: Me no feel good.
Cavewoman: Me sorry.
Caveman: Bring cloth soaked in coconut oil for my chest.
Cavewoman: (muttering) Me do. (She proceeds to climb tree, retrieve coconut, press out oil, dip cloth into it, then spread it on to her man's chest.)
Caveman: Me still no feel good.
Cavewoman: Take bow and arrow and shoot food.
Caveman: Me too sick to use bow and arrow.
Cavewoman: Give me arrow. Me know where to put it. (Where the sun don't shine.)
Gem for the day: men will always be the weaker sex.
The phenomenon of males unable to handle the barest of sniffles dates back to caveman times.
I imagine the conversation between the stricken cave-male and his long suffering cave-mate went something like this:
Caveman: Me no feel good.
Cavewoman: Me sorry.
Caveman: Bring cloth soaked in coconut oil for my chest.
Cavewoman: (muttering) Me do. (She proceeds to climb tree, retrieve coconut, press out oil, dip cloth into it, then spread it on to her man's chest.)
Caveman: Me still no feel good.
Cavewoman: Take bow and arrow and shoot food.
Caveman: Me too sick to use bow and arrow.
Cavewoman: Give me arrow. Me know where to put it. (Where the sun don't shine.)
Gem for the day: men will always be the weaker sex.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Day 223, July 25
What words are most likely to strike terror in a woman's breast?
"Honey, I don't feel so hot," as uttered by her beloved.
If you hear these words, if you even THINK you might hear these words, run, don't walk, out of the house, get in your car, and check yourself into a hotel (using HIS credit card, of course) until you think your significant other has recovered from whatever real or imagined ailment has beset him.
This counsel applies not just to menopausers, but to every woman. For there is nothing more pitiful (and annoying) than a male who thinks he might have a sniffle.
Wives and mothers have suffered through all manner of sicknesses, including childbirth, with scarcely a word of complaint. Mothers, in particular, have no choice but to get up and take care of the children, even if they are falling down sick. Men, on the other hand, have only to sneeze and they take to their beds with a litany of complaints, moans, and groans.
They assume a voice that grates on even the most patient woman's soul. "If I hear that voice one more time, I'm going to murder him while he sleeps," one wife confided to me.
Loyal friend that I am, I offered her the use of the big hole in our back yard where she could dispose of the body.
Gem for the day: I repeat: run, don't walk, from a male with the sniffles. You'll thank me later.
"Honey, I don't feel so hot," as uttered by her beloved.
If you hear these words, if you even THINK you might hear these words, run, don't walk, out of the house, get in your car, and check yourself into a hotel (using HIS credit card, of course) until you think your significant other has recovered from whatever real or imagined ailment has beset him.
This counsel applies not just to menopausers, but to every woman. For there is nothing more pitiful (and annoying) than a male who thinks he might have a sniffle.
Wives and mothers have suffered through all manner of sicknesses, including childbirth, with scarcely a word of complaint. Mothers, in particular, have no choice but to get up and take care of the children, even if they are falling down sick. Men, on the other hand, have only to sneeze and they take to their beds with a litany of complaints, moans, and groans.
They assume a voice that grates on even the most patient woman's soul. "If I hear that voice one more time, I'm going to murder him while he sleeps," one wife confided to me.
Loyal friend that I am, I offered her the use of the big hole in our back yard where she could dispose of the body.
Gem for the day: I repeat: run, don't walk, from a male with the sniffles. You'll thank me later.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Day 222, July 24
More about my reign as king of the world.
-Rapists, child molesters, and wife abusers would be Bobbit-ized.
-Men who didn't pay child support would be dealt with in a similar manner.
-As would drunk drivers.
-All public buildings would be required to double the number of women's restrooms.
-If they do not comply, men's restrooms would be converted to those for women.
I can hear your applause now for these outstanding ideas.
Gem for the day: cast your vote for me right away..
-Rapists, child molesters, and wife abusers would be Bobbit-ized.
-Men who didn't pay child support would be dealt with in a similar manner.
-As would drunk drivers.
-All public buildings would be required to double the number of women's restrooms.
-If they do not comply, men's restrooms would be converted to those for women.
I can hear your applause now for these outstanding ideas.
Gem for the day: cast your vote for me right away..
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Day 221, July 23
I sometimes fantasize about what I would do if I were king of the world. (Really, I'd be queen, but king sounds more ... well, more kingly.)
One of the first things I would do is to do away with temperature gauges which continually insult and assault my intelligence by telling me that it is 72 degrees when I know for a fact that it is at least a 102 degrees. Banks, in particular, delight in posting these false temperatures.
Why am I up in arms about this? Because when I'm in the car with The Wretch (aka my beloved), I frequently turn the AC down, wanting more cool air. He, wretch that he is, objects and invariably points to a convenient temperature posting, saying, "See, it's barely 70 out."
Not!
That place between the girls (my breasts) and the nape of my neck tell me that it's at least 110. These internal themometers are never wrong. They register temperatures with unerring accuracy.
Gem for the day: when you see a posted temperature that you know is wrong, you can be sure that it was set by a man.
One of the first things I would do is to do away with temperature gauges which continually insult and assault my intelligence by telling me that it is 72 degrees when I know for a fact that it is at least a 102 degrees. Banks, in particular, delight in posting these false temperatures.
Why am I up in arms about this? Because when I'm in the car with The Wretch (aka my beloved), I frequently turn the AC down, wanting more cool air. He, wretch that he is, objects and invariably points to a convenient temperature posting, saying, "See, it's barely 70 out."
Not!
That place between the girls (my breasts) and the nape of my neck tell me that it's at least 110. These internal themometers are never wrong. They register temperatures with unerring accuracy.
Gem for the day: when you see a posted temperature that you know is wrong, you can be sure that it was set by a man.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Day 220, July 22
I know--all of you think I don't have a serious thought in my head and that I'm a frivolous old woman who rants about anything from the TSA to menopausal husbands. The truth is, too often my heart is burdened.
One of the things that many menopausers have endured is the heartache of watching a child go through a painful divorce. It is something I never thought would happen in our family, yet it did.
I cried with my grown son when he called to say that his wife had left him and their two little boys. My heart broke with his. He survived, stayed close to the Lord, and is remarried to a lovely woman who shares his commitment to family.
Gem for the day: even frivolous old women like me know heartache. Be kind to us.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Day 219, July 21
Most women know that the acronym LBD stands for "little black dress." Most of us have or have had such a dress in our wardrobes. It is a staple of the well-dressed woman.
Now that I am firmly in the grips of menopause, I realize that LBD can stand for something much more relevant: lumpy, bumpy, and dumpy. In some circles, this is known as the "umpies." Yes, the little black dress has given way to the big black dress with its attendant lumps, bumps, and dumpiness. It's not a particularly palatable realization, but there you have it.
Gem for the day: when your LBDs get you down, treat them with a big helping of Ben and Jerry's. It won't smooth out the lumps, bumps, and dumpiness, but it sure goes down smooth.
Now that I am firmly in the grips of menopause, I realize that LBD can stand for something much more relevant: lumpy, bumpy, and dumpy. In some circles, this is known as the "umpies." Yes, the little black dress has given way to the big black dress with its attendant lumps, bumps, and dumpiness. It's not a particularly palatable realization, but there you have it.
Gem for the day: when your LBDs get you down, treat them with a big helping of Ben and Jerry's. It won't smooth out the lumps, bumps, and dumpiness, but it sure goes down smooth.
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