Sympathy

I knew it was coming. Sore throat, body aches, slight fever, coughing fit at three A.M. Yep. I officially have the flu.

Tim, of course is very sympathetic. He rolled over and told me not to worry about waking him in the middle of the night as I held the pillow over my face and coughed up a lung. He only opened the shades three times this morning, put on the TV and switched on the light while I languished in my sickbed. He even called a few minutes ago to see how I was doing... and told me I needed to be over it by tomorrow because we have an invitation to spend the night at someone's house tomorrow night and then go out with them on their boat on Saturday. Yep, he's just brimming over with concern.

Don't get me wrong. The last time I had the stomach flu, he went to the store at six in the morning to get me pretzels, Gatorade and chicken soup. He offered to take me to the hospital/ doctor. He called eighty-two thousand times to check up on me. The regular old flu just doesn't make the cut for getting sympathy. To Tim, it is in the "suck it up and walk it off" category of illnesses. Like breaking your elbow.

Nine years ago (it's true, women forget nothing and can bring anything up at anytime for any reason--deal with it guys), we had just moved into our house and had our first visitors. Of course, the hardwood floors had taken a beating from all the people, boxes, etc., so they needed to be spruced up a bit before company came. Tim offered to go to the store and get something to clean them with. I believe my last words were, "Do not get Endust. It makes the floor slippery." Naurally, he came back with Endust. (I swear he only hears about every fourth word I say on a good day!)

Fortunately, our luck held and our elderly guest who had just had knee surgery did not slip and fall. I, however, was not so lucky.

At around midnight, I went upstairs to get ready for bed and decided not to come back down to watch TV. Instead of yelling down, I thought I would walk down, tell Tim and get another glass of water. Unfortunately, I had made the fateful decision to leave on my socks while I did this (it was winter and I didn't want cold feet, so I opted for the broken elbow instead--a good choice, don't you think?)

Let's just say that Endust, socks and stairs do not mix, but the cheap glass from Target came out without a nick or scratch. Oh, and we have thirteen steps leading to the second floor. I counted each one as my elbow hit it on the way down. (I now drink my water straight from the plastic bottle and have cold feet all winter...and they say you can't teach an old dog new tricks).

Tim, who thought a box had fallen (how come in all the romance novels and chick flicks, the girls are always getting compared to a greek goddess or a delicate flower, and I get compared to a large. square, cardboard object?) came around the corner to find me sitting on the bottom step laughing hysterically and offered to take me to the hospital (or psych ward). I assured him that I was fine (physically, at least) and just needed a good night's sleep. (I was not going to the hospital in my PJ's)

Turns out I was not so fine and I definitely did not get a good night's sleep. My arm throbbed all night long and no amount of Tylenol helped.

First thing in the morning, Tim offered again to take me to the hospital. but we had made an appointment at a furniture store and it was the last day of the big sale (hey, you have to have priorities in life, and you can sit in emergency rooms for hours before they will even have you fill out a form).

Off to the store we went. Two hours later, I was holding my arm, gobbling Tylenol like candy corns at Halloween and rethinking my priorities when he asked me how I liked a particular couch. "Fine." I answered, "Let's get it," not realizing that this was the wrong thing to say to a guy who has been dragged to the furniture store on a Saturday morning.

"Fine! Fine!" he snapped. "I don't want to settle for fine. If you don't like it, let's keep looking."

I am not Irish for nothing. I believe my answer went something like, "Okay, not fine. It is the most beautiful, stupendous couch I have ever seen. I must have it, or I will fling myself from the top of a mountain into the icy, raging waters of a rushing river." And then I burst into tears and gabbed my arm.

Now this is where the sympathy came pouring out of him. He turned to me and, without missing a beat, said, "I offered to take you to the hospital, but you wanted to come furtiture shopping, so suck it up and walk it off ! "

You know how in the movies, someone says something so outrageous that all converstation, movement and even the backgrounnd music stops? Well, it was kind of like that. The saleswoman backed out of there at Mach ten as , slowly, I turned. Step by step, inch by inch I approached Tim, opened my mouth and...nothing.

I can't remember what happend next because I think I had a stroke. When I came to, we were in the car on the way to the ER. But first, we stopped to pick up burgers. I said I was reevaluating my priorities, I never said I put my elbow at the top of the list!

To make a long story short, (too late), we got the couch, I got a cast and Tim had to wash and dry my waist length hair for the next couple weeks. I'm still thinking of a suitable punishment for him for this weekend.