Help, I've Been Shot... By a Nurse!
So my wife just arrives home from her evening shift. I sit in the kitchen chatting with her about our son who did a round-off into a back flip which didn't go as planned at his gymnastics session tonight (don't worry, he's probably fine... he's got a head like a concrete block...) when I notice she's loading a syringe.
"What are you doing?", I ask.
"Well, do you want to get a tattoo or not?"
"I don't want to get a SHOT!"
"I TOLD you that if you plan to do this, you were going to need a tetanus shot."
I'm pretty sure I continue to argue for another minute or so. Like *that* helped. Not.
Friggin' nurses. I could write a whole BOOK on the quirks of living with one. For one thing, she is COMPLETELY incapable of watching any television show in which the characters need to perform any medical procedures. She practically yells at them. "THAT's not how you do a blah blah blah! That patient should be dead now!!" "Well, good thing it's only an ACTOR!", I usually reply. But it never helps.
And they get SO wrapped up in their jobs! Once long ago, back when she's in training as an obstetrical nurse, I wake up in the middle of the night to discover that she has me in a death grip. And I don't mean that she has my ARM in a death grip. Neither do I mean that she has my LEG in a death grip. She has my AREA YOU SHOULD NEVER BE THIS ROUGH WITH in a death grip.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING??", I ask very calmly. Not.
"THE HEAD'S DELIVERING!!", she says to me.
Charming. She thinks she's delivering a baby. And *I'm* the mother. Eventually I convince her to release me, and coax her back down onto the pillow. Mr. Happy wasn't too happy THAT night, let me tell you.
It's a good thing they do so much good in the world, or they'd be *impossible* to put up with.