I think you learn a lot about your significant other the first time you get sick. Over the past couple days, I have had a cold, and I have learned that Jack is desperately afraid of getting said cold. In fact, you would think I have Ebola or the monkey pox or something.
Don't get me wrong, he has been fantastic in a lot of ways during this time. When I was home from work, he took time out of his very busy day to bring me lunch, tissues, and orange juice. When I had to leave town earlier this week unexpectedly, he took care of Spot for me, and even did my laundry. I appreciate these things - A LOT. But for me there is nothing that can take the place of actually spending time together.
I should probably blame my mother for this. When I'd get the stomach flu as a little girl, she would stay up all night with me, holding my hair back each and every time I threw up. If I had a fever or a cold, she'd bring me cool washcloths and hold them on my forehead. To this day, if I call her when I'm sick, she asks if I'd like her to make a 7+ hour drive to come take care of me. I'm not kidding.
Then there's Jack. I have met his parents and I can't imagine that they would have locked him in the cellar when he came down with something, letting him come out only when he could prove the illness had passed....and yet, that's basically how Jack has turned out. And I suppose I either have to get used to it or cry until I get my way. I think I'll go with the latter.
Jack's Two Cents: I'd like to comment more about this post, but I'm too nervous to touch Jill's germy keyboard. I don't want to get the bird flu or whatever it is that she has.
13 comments:
My wife is great with me when I am sick. Not so much me for her. I'm not afraid I'm going to get sick it's just sick people bore me.
In the good old days, when someone got The Black Death, they were boarded up in their houses to die!
Dude, you've already caught her cooties. It really doesn't matter anymore.
I feel for you, Jack. That's how I was raised. If you were sick you retired to your bedroom until you were well enough to face humanity again.
As I've often said to women, "I can love you just as much from two states away, baby." Or "No, I'm not taking off this HAZMAT suit."
Just lick Jack's [Volkswagon] door handle and act very confused when he gets sick. . . .
My mom's "poor baby(ies)" flashed before my very own eyes the very first time I got sick around the husband too! He was all, like, "you're fine. Get over it" and went back to business as if I wasn't dying of the monkey flu. And, I was dying. I was.
Hmpf. Men.
Dude its the frigging cold. So what if you get it? You'll only be sick for a couple of days.
If I get sick from commenting I am going to be pissed.
WREGGIE - You men! Wimps!
CHIEF - That sounds lovely.
SIR - This is what I've been trying to tell him!
SPRITE - You poor little lamb. That isn't very nice!
PISTOLS - You really know how to work the ladies, you know that? Of course you know that.
JEN - Hahaha, I love your evil ideas!
SID - THANK YOU!
SURVIVING - You can get sick just from READING this, didn't you know?
-JILL
I'm going to have to side with Jack on this one, namely because I'm one of those people who rarely get sick, but when they do, it's always some sort of plague that lasts for at least three weeks, one of which is spent in the hospital. I would tell you more, but I'm having flashbacks of drowning in Kleenex.
I am a baby-er, most of the time. I feel bad for sick people; I have SYMPATHY, damnit!
Every man I know is a gigantic baby when he's sick and runs the other way when someone else is.
At least my mom takes care of me... *sniffle* And sometimes Tia's husband will offer to bring me soup, if I cry.
Out of curiosity: Do you, Jack of Jill ever plan on posting again? I'm just wondering because it's already a new month, and no new posts have been made. Get it together darn it. I like your blog, and I'm admittedly tired of checking back day after day only to find "That time Jill got sick". I'm sure she's not sick anymore.
Reminds me of the man cold. Check it out on youtube.
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