Somehow … It’s My Fault

Jun 8, 2011 by winjaw

I was a good husband. The word “perfect” comes to mind.

I did exactly what the Little Black Dress told me to do, without any questions.

Yet I was the one who got The Look.  Said Look, from a doctor, came out as: “Your wife has a temperature of 103 and you are not going to take her back to the woods in some tent. You are going to take her home or here’s a number for a very nice B&B where she can stay and rest while you tramp around in the woods and I hope she breaks your fingers as you hold her hand and I give her a shot filled with every medication I know of and yes it will be in the buttocks and I hope you’re happy.”

Let’s back up.

It was a Thursday a couple of weeks ago. We are busy packing up way too much stuff for a five-day camping trip to the north Georgia mountains with two other families. The Dress informs me she is not feeling well, and is going to lie down. She is also pretty emphatic that she will be going on this trip regardless of how she feels.

We head out Friday. The Dress is not doing any better. There’s a cough, she aches, it’s not pretty. The LBD rarely gets sick, she can’t afford to with three Sons of Thunder. Plus everyone knows the unwritten rule that moms can’t get sick.

She’s sick.

She joins us for meals, but spends most of the time in the tent. And for the record, a very large tent you can stand up in. And I even had little portable fans. Although some might point out it’s still a friggin tent and there’s no AC.

Anyway.

Come Sunday The Dress pops out and says she’s feeling a little better. And she grabs a stick and a knife and starts whittling away. The Dress, with a KA-BAR knife. Let’s savor that image for a moment. Paris Hilton ruined the phrase, but let’s face it, that’s hot.

She, The Dress, not Paris, declines to join us on a hike. We get back and The Dress is not doing well. She says she needs to see a doctor. We head to town to find one of those urgent care places. We’re in luck and there’s no wait. Ta da.

And the doc and the assistant get to work. And pretty soon there’s a “harrump” sound from the doc, who’s looking at some weird device that apparently tells her what the LBD’s temperature is. And she, the doc, not the LBD, says something about 102 point whatever and sticks another device into the LBD’s mouth.

This time it’s 103 and there’s another Nanny McPhee “harrump” sound from the doc. The doc is not pleased. She is most definitely not pleased as I explain what we’ve been doing for the last three days and plan to continue doing for a couple more. The doc looks at me with The Look, as described above.

And it’s then that the assistant does her own little “harrump” and announces the LBD’s blood pressure. I don’t know why, but doctors always think we patients actually know what that something over whatever number combination actually means after they’ve basically crushed our arm with that balloon gizmo. I always have to say, “is that good?”

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Or walking pneumonia or something.

The doctor, honestly, was very, very nice. She was even nicer when I took her advice and the little business card and got The Dress a reservation at a cozy little hamlet that rented cottages.

So I got The Dress settled, went back, got the Sons and we loaded up on groceries for The Dress. Which was kinda silly because she couldn’t eat anything.

And the whole ride over I’m getting the Second Degree from the Sons, who are absolutely refusing to accept my explanations and cannot compute why The Dress is not back at camp whittling.

And they are starting to give me A Look, like it’s somehow all my fault the LBD is not hiking up the side of a mountain right now. And before I let that Look go any farther, we arrive at the cottage and I let The Dress explain everything. Because I’ve had enough Looks for one day thank you very much.

The Dress is successful, the Sons are appeased. We grab some fast food as a peace pipe kind of thing and head back to camp minus The Dress.

And The Dress is now much better. Not that it has anything to do with being back in her own home and bed mind you.