Boys are dumb, throw Mylanta at them.
I love my husband. I do. But sometimes, I wonder how he survived this long.
This morning, his stomach was upset to the point that he didn’t want to leave the house. So he called work and told them he’d be working from home today. I called him a little before noon to see how he was feeling. He said he was not much better, that he couldn’t bear to eat anything yet, but that he’d been drinking lots of water. OK.
He called me a little after 1:30 to tell me I got a jury summons in the mail. I asked him again how he’s feeling. Swear to God, this is what he said:
“Well, I was starting to feel a little better, but then I ate your leftover Phad Thai and…”
I cut him off. “What? You ate Phad Thai from three nights ago?”
“Well, it’s only from two nights ago, and there wasn’t that much of it,” he replied. “But, yes.”
I don’t remember what I said exactly after that. Something to the tune of “ARE YOU RETARDED? Your stomach is upset enough that you didn’t go to work today and you decide that the best way to treat it is to eat leftover Thai food?”
His response: “Well, I was starting to feel better.”
“OK,” I said. “And what happened?”
“Um…my stomach is bugging me again.”
Silence.
“So when are you coming home?”
I promised GTB several months ago that I wouldn’t post things on here that might embarrass him, but this was just too good and too frustrating not to. Perhaps, next time he’s in the midst of horrendous lower GI issues, this embarrassing blog post will teach him to reach for white rice or plain toast and not greasy, spicy, leftover Thai food.
Argh.