Husbands suck sometimes. Especially sick ones. I've never heard so much moaning and groaning in my life. You'd think he was dying, for heaven's sakes (with sayings like that, I morph into my grandmother a little more each day...frightening thought).
With all this commotion, you'd think he'd at least go to the doctors. I mean 4 missed days of work equal a visit to a trained professional in my book. But, no! He doesn't need a "stupid" doctor telling him what's wrong with his body. Okay then, just don't bitch to me when you die.
What I hate most about him being sick is him being home with me. All the damn day. I can't get anything done because he's lying on the couch, sighing loud enough to be heard three towns over. I ask him, "what do you want?" His answer is always long and drawn out and usually ends with a request for me to go to the store. Because we can never have what he wants here at the house, no that would be too easy.
So, if you're the praying type, pray he gets better before I kill him.