Constipation, Cramps & Criticism

Yes, as a matter of fact, you did read the title right. Constipation. It's a bitch. Now, I'm not exactly sure how this happened, but it did.

It could have been the cocktail of cold medicines, Midol and Motrin I have been feeding on since New Year's Day.

Or maybe it was all that gackity oil from I breathed in whilst preparing the spread of deep fried food.

Or maybe it was the damn Cheese Stix. Those Cheese Stix can apparently jack a body up.

Regardless of how and why it happened. It happened and I'm in dietary hell.

I don't know if criticism is exactly the word I am looking for in this particular situation. Big T isn't really doing that. He's just less than supportive. Let's think of a better word.

I think maybe a better description of what he is would be lack of compassion for his dear, sweet wifey's intestinal discomfort. Yah, that's it.

Now, I'm not really thrilled here, writing about my lower digestive issues. However, due to the obvious kick my darling husband has gotten out of my sorry state, I felt it an amuzing subject. Or I'll find it amuzing once the Heaven's open, angels sing and the pipes are unobstructed.

More than that, though. He's being outright shitty about my current state. Pardon the pun.

"I'm gonna start calling you Roto-rooter. No, wait, that's who we should be calling for ya baby." He muses.

*crickets*

"When the whites of your eyes start to turn brown, baby, you know its time to take action."

I just look at him.

"What ya need to do is, sit on the pot with your feet pointing straight ahead. Not sideways, but straight ahead." Wisdom from a master shitter.

"Then, grab your knees and rock forward and back. Not side to side because that'll just scare it back up. Back and forth. Got it?"

"Great, a shit lesson." I'm less than amuzed at this point. "Why can't you just go get me some Exlax or something???"

He rebuts. "Pay attention, dammit!! I'm trying to teach you how to shit."

*blink*

"Medicate, medicate, medicate. That's all ya wanna do ain't it?? Maybe you should sing while ya rock back and forth."

He breaks into a lovely rendition of Swing Low Sweet Chariots. Why that song, you may ask.

Because, if you sing in a low, low tone, it will rattle your intestines. Genius.

"I'm a girl, shithead. I can't sing bass. How bout I sing Take This Job and Shove It? How bout that??"

I'm now not only constipated and dying from the cramps engulfing my entire being, but I'm annoyed.