Typical Hypochondria

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, but I’ve been in traction. My wife tends to get angry a bit when I don’t show the adequate amount of concern for all of her booboos. The funny thing is I think all women are like that. But, boy, you should hear how little sympathy I get when I stub my toe on something she or the baby left lying around.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but, one day some time ago, my wife and I turned into old people. Every time she hears of some new disease, she thinks she has it. Every other week, it’s Eastern Equine Encephalitis, SARS, or the Super Flu. Likewise, all I want to do is take naps and criticize people for their inadequacies.

I went to sleep, and we were fun-loving college kids, and I woke up, and we were my parents. The only logical conclusion I can reach is that having a child ages the average person forty-five years in about sixteen minutes. (Have I mentioned how petrified I am of becoming my father and how fast it’s happening? Serenity now!)

So, ladies, I’m begging you… Just because you have a cough, a small fever, or Patrick Duffy growing out of your leg, don’t go running to the doctor. Do what any self-respecting man would do. Rub some dirt on it and get back in the game. Then, when you have to have surgery or have a limb amputated, you can blame your husband. Isn’t that nice? You’ll have something else to blame on your partner. As it is, I’m guessing most of you blame Communism, war, and bad hair days on him. Right?

Chris

(Note: If anyone can catch any of the pop culture references in this blog, I’ll virtually pat you on the back. See if you can get more than my wife.)

(Another note: The picture is Nikita Kruschev.)