Excuse me but you are interfering with my meltdown....

Grumpy has been sick. That statement alone should be enough to warrant sympathy for me. Because unlike me, when Grumpy is sick the world must stop. Suddenly it's as if the earth is going to explode from some disaster caused by the simple fact that he is of course dying of some unnatural cause.

Constipation.

That's what it was. But let me tell you it knocked him flat on the ground. Doubled over grabbing his abdomen as if something were going to fall out. Sounding as if he were giving birth to Roseanne pre-surgery.

Constipation.

I could be vomiting, leaking fluid from every orifice of my body, have my arm amputated and my leg broken and I'd still have to get up and function. But Grumpy can't take out the trash because he can't go potty.

So the trash waited. And I know many women out there would be like Why can't you take out the trash. And my answer is a big resounding "That's not my job". Yes I said it. It's a man's job to take out the trash. It's a man's job to fix the toilet. It's a man's job to shovel the driveway and scrape the ice off the car windows. If God intended for me to take out the stinky garbage, he wouldn't have created men to begin with.

Screw womens rights. All that did was end up making women have to do mens jobs. Now we have to work twice as hard as we had to work and instead of doing the manly things, men are sitting on the xbox playing Call of Duty. Whoopty Doo.

The problem though wasn't that Grumpy was sick. It was WHEN he was sick. I happen to be in the middle of a down spell for me. Which means getting up and dressed is the extent of my abilities to function normally. So in essence he ruined my ability to sit and do nothing and feel sorry for myself.

So i've given him an ulitmatum. He's allowed 2 sick days for physical or medical illness during any given month. The only other way he can have sick days if he decides to go and be labeled crazy like the rest of us.

And I intend to invest in exlax so this never happens again.