New York Fever

I’ve been sick, and I’m such a freakin’ baby about being sick that my wife actually teases me when I’m hunched over in pain as I Frankenstein-walk to the kitchen for some juice. I really hope that I never come down with a chronic disease, because she’ll kick me out pronto, yo! In her defense, whenever I have a slight fever, I complain about every little thing and want LOADS of sympathy more than anything else. This simply is not my wife. She’s more of a “suck-it-up like a man, bitch!” type, which is fine – I knew it going in. Also, because she’s self-employed P/T (and deals with the kids, plus the crap that I’m too lame or passive-aggressive to handle), she doesn’t have the luxury to call in sick and rest up for a day, so she resents me for being able to do so (can’t argue with that). Using what little sense I have as a male of the species, I made as few demands on her as possible during my three days in bed, and tried to keep my whiny mouth shut.

The kids were fascinated by the facial hair that sprouted forth from my face while I was bedridden. M was particularly distressed when he found out that I was going to shave it all off before heading back to work (he liked rubbing his hands on my scruffy face). I compromised and told him I’d leave a small patch in place, which really pleased him. My wife will be shaving it off as I sleep, I’m sure. Last night, she recoiled in horror and yelped, “You’ve got a soul patch!” after we escaped a freaky alumni theater event in the Village and emerged into the glow of streetlamps and neon bar lights.

Well, I’m no hipster (just Familyman!), so off it comes. Dude.