My father called me yesteday. "Did you hear what Britney did?"
"Um... yeah," I replied. "Why would YOU hear what Britney did?"
Apparently, my father has been watching Access Hollywood again. He knows I'm into pop culture and entertainment news, but we don't talk about it. When it comes to women like Britney, he focuses on the physical and doesn't know why society as a whole is pretty much sick of her.
"You know to never do that, right?"
Yes. Britney is an idiot. Do you really have to be a mother-to-be to know that to hold your 3 month old child against your body while riving and blame it on the paparazzi, is irresponsible. I told him this, along with the opinion that her first responsibility was to her son, not herself. That satisfied him. I just hope that the next time she's on TV and I ask him to change it, he'll do so instead of saying, "Wait a minute," and continue to watch as she continues to flaunt her body across the stage.
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This week, whatever third trimester aches and pains I have been having have been placed on the back burner because my husband has been sick. And so motherhood came 2 and a half months early for me.
On Monday, after one of my doctor's appointments, Ken complained of his stomach feeling like lead. And he was lightheaded.
"Do you think I could have caught something?"
"Honey," I replied. "We were at an obstetricians office. What the women there have, you can't catch."
But he went to work and came home and felt sick.
"I'm cold." "Make me tea." I tell him to get into bed. "I'm too cold to get up. Help me. Can I have hot chocolate instead of tea?"
I come home from work the next day to find him sprawled on the couch watching TV. I ask how he's feeling. "I need more juice," he replies. And so I look at him. After about 15 seconds or so, he asks, "Do I really have to get up and get my own juice?"
Don't get me wrong. I'm all for taking care of those who are sick. But come on. Somehow, men were created missing the gene that enables them to take care of themselves. Women know what to do when they're not feeling well. We eat when we want to eat and we know what to eat. If we feel we need medicine, we take medicine. We don't need permission or reassurance that it's okay.
Whomever claimed that women are the weaker sex have never dealt with a man with a stomachache.
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2 comments:
I love how the paparazzi are a-okay when it comes to pushing Britney's broken down car off the road so she doesn't get rear-ended by another car while waiting for a tow-truck in the middle of the road, but then when they want to actually do theor job and take her picture, they're also responsible for causing her to endanger her beloved infant.
Give me a break.
I'd watch how strongly you criticize her. I hear the stalkerazzi are wicked bad up there in Mass. You might find yourself in the very same situation in a few months (you know, leaving a Starbucks with a skinny mocha Frapp in one hand and Sean Preston in another while your unshowered husband talks on his cell phone and wonders how many days it's been since he last brushed his teeth).
Or maybe not.
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