I Am Not Well
The following is a true story:

Scene: I am laying in bed, flu-ravaged, in and out of fitful, fevered sleep. In walks my eldest boy, Jacahabraden.

BOY: Hi Dad.

ME: ...eyeeearrrg...

BOY: How are you feeling?

ME: How am I feeling? Can't you tell? This is my normal I'm-totally-well pose with the deep hacking cough, the slow writhing in undeserved fluish body wracking pain and the heat you feel on your face the emanates from my slightly swollen, feverish body as though you were standing too close to a small star. Super-duper, kiddo. I just had a ninety minute conversation with my grandmother who, by the way, has been dead for eleven years. That was very comforting. So I'm good.

BOY: I brought you this in case you got hungry.

Boy produces a Quaker Chewy Granola Bar, Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip flavored.

ME to self: What the hell? Doing something nice? Either he's killed someone or... no, I get it. The little punk read yesterday's blogpost where I blamed him and his other school-age brother for getting me sick and now this is his passive-aggressive attempt to make me feel guilty by being nice and trying to take care of me. No sir. Not in my house.

ME to Boy: Wow, thanks so much son. There's nothing a person suffering under the crushing weight of gut-splitting two-day nausea needs more than a little nosh, especially one with no nutritional value whatsoever. Here, let me go ahead and eat it right now.

I cram the entire granola bar into my mouth, hold until it becomes good and pasty and then spit it violently back in his sabotaging face. He runs out crying.

ME calling after him: That's right, leave me here, all alone. If I die from this, you won't see a penny. Not one penny, you sneaky little viper! You stay out of here from now on! Stay out unless I call you, and then you had better come running! Until then, you leave me alone, all alone up here to die in peace, unloved!

And then, alone, I wept bitterly from the bounteous sorrow of my stricken heart.

Yet another victory!



This post on the Narcissus Scale: 9.9



Pops

Labels: discharge

- posted by Pops @ 8:59 AM