Just take the damned medicine!
What is it with men and whining about being sick? Christine the Curmudgeon just doesn’t get it – you feel sick, you take some meds for it. Right?
So why is this simple thing such a Hugh Jass production for Mr. Curmudgeon?
Over the 4th of July weekend, we went up to New Hampshire for a few Fisher Cats games. On Sunday we went to lunch at this place in Manchester called Cactus Jack’s. Mr. C ordered the seafood gumbo, which he said was very good, but the spices upset his tummy and made his nose run – apparently his sinuses were dripping into his tummy, which was likely the main cause of the upset.
So I offered him some Sudafed (the real stuff that you have to sign away your life at the pharmacy counter to get, not the crap that you can just pick off the shelf, that doesn’t work). I told him that it would dry him right up in there, and then he’d feel well enough to go to the ball game that evening. But he resisted, he swore up and down that this stuff doesn’t work for him, and went on acting like an overgrown baby. Sheesh, you’d think I was forcing him to reads endless apidexin reviews and such before taking something. What does he have to lose by taking a couple? If they don’t work, they don’t work. But if they do, then at least he’d feel better and I’d no longer have to hear all the whining.
So he finally agreed to take some. After lunch, we went to the CVS next door, where I bought some more. We went back to the hotel, and he started feeling better in about half an hour. He took some more right before we headed out for the game, and everything was fine.
See? Was that so hard?
