Me: Why the FUCK are you blinking so goddamn much?
Him: I have something in my eye.
Me: Well get it out. It's on my last fucking nerve. Blink. Blink. Blink. It's like being on an acid trip in a disco and you're making my vertigo act up, I may pass out.
Him: I'll be fine.
Me: No. You won't be fine. You already drive like shit - you can't go around blind and driving - you're not helping your cause much are you?
Him: I had on my safety goggles so I don't know why I got something in my eye.
Me: Because Larry fucking Wilson hates you and put it there. Jesus. Who the hell knows WHY it's in there - what the hell does sitting around trying to determine WHY seem a logical solution to just fixing the fucking problem? AND STOP FUCKING BLINKING - YOU'RE JUST TEARING THE SHIT OUT OF YOUR EYE AT THIS POINT. Go to the doctor.
Him: How much will that cost?
Me: What the fuck do you care? You don't pay for it and you don't even understand how the insurance works - just go to the damned doctor because your fucking blindness is going to be more expensive than getting this problem resolved. I'm going to bed. You've made me nauseous.
So the next morning, he gets up and comes out to the garage where I was cheerfully drinking coffee and playing on my iPhone. BLINKING.
Me: You'll need $25 and the insurance card. Go to the fucking doctor and do NOT come back here until you have.
So he finally went to the doctor and when he got back he told me he had a scratch on his eye. That's it. A scratch on his eye. But, you see, I had an appointment with that same doctor later that day and that's when I got the REAL story.
Evidently, he'd almost passed out in her office when she was messing with his eye and also has a terrible infection in his eye. See. I knew he was going to go blind with all that fucking blinking. Thank GOD he has me.
And while his eye appears to be on the mend, he's now injured his back and his sinuses are "out of control".
I'm thinking of putting him in traction and having a large swedish woman flush his sinuses with a netti-pot every 1/2 hour. Maybe THEN he'd quit with his incessant hypochondria and morning complaining about all his fucking ailments. You're 42. Not 82. Try taking care of yourself for once and see if you don't feel better. Until then - I don't want to hear it unless you need me to call an ambulance. Or a hearse to just take you straight to the cemetary.