Boo is a closet hypochondriac. (He doesn't read my blog which is a good thing because he'd deny it every step of the way.)
First off...he has allergies. Allergies that he refuses to take allergy meds for because "they make him weak and tired". In the meantime, he snooks and snorts (my terminology for the sounds that comes from his nose when he sniffs). He just announced that his allergies are at a stage 4 which means that he must be incurable.
I've learned to keep most of my ailments to myself because, bless his lil heart, he can outdo my symptoms with his own. For instance, I might say, "My wrist sure hurts from all that writing." He'll say, "So does mine. Mine REALLY hurts. Do you think I should go to the doctor and get an x-ray?" I dare not complain about pre-menstrual cramps because I'm pretty sure he'd think of a symptom that "beats" mine.
In fact, he repeats some stories that he finds are traumatizing. His prostate exam was one that fit into that category. I reminded him that females have it much worse! We not only get poked and prodded with our legs in stirrups but we also have to have our boobs squished between cold metal plates. Then comes the all too familiar questions such as, "How heavy is your menstrual flow?" I also reminded him that birthing babies was definitely worse than pulling a hamstring while playing baseball. He one upped me by saying that, "That's only because you ladies are used to it so it doesn't count".
I've decided that the next time he comes up with some mysterious ailment, I'm going to give it a name like, "hairfallingoutitis", prescribe two Oreo cookies and milk and send him on his way. Oh, but then again, milk makes him tired.
Saturday and Sunday in the Country
1 hour ago