I'm once again stealing from Kyslp at Stir-Fry Awesomeness, who recently posted "Letters I Write But Don't Have the Cojones to Send Husband Edition," which you can read here. If you aren't reading/following her, SHAME ON YOU. Get up off your lazy bum & visit her now, she's the best! My lame attempt is below if you don't get too wrapped up in her blog and forget about little ole' me.
Dear Husband,
While I appreciate that you work hard every day to provide us with a lovely home, beautiful things, food to eat, and nice cars to drive, I do not appreciate your frank stupidity and your utter lack of sound judgment.
You are a doctor, a very noble calling to be sure. I admire what you do because I couldn't even get through Intro to Biology in college, let alone Algebra. You are quite talented and there's no doubt in my mind that you are the bee's knees.
That being said, today you clearly left any common sense you had at home in your sock drawer.
Fraternity reunion weekend. I soooooooo get it. You want to be with your friends, consume mass quantities of alcohol and act like idiots (just like you did in college). I generally accept this and don't give you shit about it. You work hard, you deserve to play hard.
But today that all changed. Today you suddenly decided it would be a fabulous idea to play flag football. FAB-U-LOUS. I considered saying something subtle before you left, but (a) I'm not your mother, (b) you are an adult, capable of making your own decisions, and (c) I didn't want to be the naggy wife. So instead I kept my mouth shut.
A little while later, you called. You said, "I broke my shoulder."
I laughed. I knew it was a joke. I mean, c'mon! You're a SURGEON! Surgeons don't do dumb things like play contact sports which could result in serious injuries which in turn could result in not being able to, oh, OPERATE ON PEOPLE?!!?!?!?!?
But it wasn't a joke. You told me it was for realz. So I threw the kids in the car, dropped them at my in-laws, and immediately went to the ER.
You are now on pain meds, in a sling, and I'm livid. Oh, but wait. It gets better. You came home, showered (with my help), got dressed (with my help), and you went back out. With the fraternity guys. To some banquet dinner thing. I am trying to remain calm. But what part of you thinks it's a good idea to go out on the town when you've just suffered a major injury?
For once, could you suck it up and realize you're not 18 anymore and partying like it's 1999 just isn't an option?
If you're not home by 10 p.m. tonight, I am so going to bed and you will have to sleep in your button-down shirt or find someone else to help you re-do your sling and ace bandages.
By the way, if you are feeling well enough to be out on the town tonight, don't think for a second I'm skipping my Girls' Night Out on Monday. No sir. The one saving grace about this little incident is that you will be around more. No work, no golf....hey, maybe I should be grateful this happened?!
No, I think not.
Love,
Your Very Angry and Resentful Wife
Dear Husband,
While I appreciate that you work hard every day to provide us with a lovely home, beautiful things, food to eat, and nice cars to drive, I do not appreciate your frank stupidity and your utter lack of sound judgment.
You are a doctor, a very noble calling to be sure. I admire what you do because I couldn't even get through Intro to Biology in college, let alone Algebra. You are quite talented and there's no doubt in my mind that you are the bee's knees.
That being said, today you clearly left any common sense you had at home in your sock drawer.
Fraternity reunion weekend. I soooooooo get it. You want to be with your friends, consume mass quantities of alcohol and act like idiots (just like you did in college). I generally accept this and don't give you shit about it. You work hard, you deserve to play hard.
But today that all changed. Today you suddenly decided it would be a fabulous idea to play flag football. FAB-U-LOUS. I considered saying something subtle before you left, but (a) I'm not your mother, (b) you are an adult, capable of making your own decisions, and (c) I didn't want to be the naggy wife. So instead I kept my mouth shut.
A little while later, you called. You said, "I broke my shoulder."
I laughed. I knew it was a joke. I mean, c'mon! You're a SURGEON! Surgeons don't do dumb things like play contact sports which could result in serious injuries which in turn could result in not being able to, oh, OPERATE ON PEOPLE?!!?!?!?!?
But it wasn't a joke. You told me it was for realz. So I threw the kids in the car, dropped them at my in-laws, and immediately went to the ER.
You are now on pain meds, in a sling, and I'm livid. Oh, but wait. It gets better. You came home, showered (with my help), got dressed (with my help), and you went back out. With the fraternity guys. To some banquet dinner thing. I am trying to remain calm. But what part of you thinks it's a good idea to go out on the town when you've just suffered a major injury?
For once, could you suck it up and realize you're not 18 anymore and partying like it's 1999 just isn't an option?
If you're not home by 10 p.m. tonight, I am so going to bed and you will have to sleep in your button-down shirt or find someone else to help you re-do your sling and ace bandages.
By the way, if you are feeling well enough to be out on the town tonight, don't think for a second I'm skipping my Girls' Night Out on Monday. No sir. The one saving grace about this little incident is that you will be around more. No work, no golf....hey, maybe I should be grateful this happened?!
No, I think not.
Love,
Your Very Angry and Resentful Wife
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