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Don't Be A Knucklehead


Above is Miss Charlotte; she is the probable carrier of some exotic pig disease that will be the demise of The Bibbed Wonder.




Many of you know, The Bibbed Wonder often leaves me shaking my head in wonderment and irritation. My oversized man-child husband is a ton of fun, amazingly hard-working, and a wonderful husband and father, but he is also one of the most stubborn knuckleheads I have ever encountered. My bib overall wearing wonder buns is frustratingly stubborn about not going to the doctor. There are no yearly check-ups unless his job requires him to do so. In the rare case that he is ill, he refuses to take any over-the-counter medicine, let alone go to the doctor. He will rarely take cold medicine or ibuprofen. He says it weakens your immune system. Sigh.


He had a horrible boil on his bottom and refused to go to the doctor. I’m talking multiple heads, pus flowing, could not sit down or lay on his back, hurt to walk kind of pain. Instead, I snapped a picture of his boil, went to the doctor myself, showed my doctor the image, and she prescribed a powerful antibiotic, wound wash, packing the wound, and ointment. After taking the antibiotics for a day and following her instructions, the pain became bearable. Seriously, why could he not go to the doctor a week earlier to address the issue? He’s a knucklehead.


Not only is he a knucklehead, but he is a fibbing sneaky knucklehead. He hides things from me, won’t tell me what is wrong, lies about feeling fine, and gets bitey if asked how he feels. I find him very frustrating to deal with and often lose my temper at his stubbornness. This weekend, he pulled another sneaky trick. He and Jenna were vaccinating the big pigs. After the needle had been stuck into a pig, he accidentally poked himself in the hand with the dirty pig needle. Rather than tell me, clean the site, disinfect the area, or call a doctor for advice, he ignored it. In response to his stubbornness and lack of care, his hand swelled, and he couldn’t bend his index finger the next day.


How do I know this? My bean ratted him out. The Bean noticed he was favoring his hand, examined it, and he told her what had happened. She came into the house and conspiratorially whispered that I could not tell her dad she said anything but that he had injured his hand and wasn’t taking care of it. Sigh. I pretended I noticed his hand on my own. I said he needed to clean it with peroxide and rubbing alcohol, perhaps see a doctor, get a tetanus shot, maybe an antibiotic was necessary. My advice was met with a steely glare; I was told to write down my thoughts on paper, roll them up tightly, and stuff them somewhere unpleasant. He’s rude.


My irritated response was to tell him I hoped his hand would fall off and used my uninfected finger to drive home my point. To my knowledge, he did nothing. However, this morning the swelling is down, and he can bend his finger once again. He has probably contracted some sort of exotic pig illness, and it is lying in wait to attack. Sigh. At least the swelling is down, and it isn’t as painful. I will spend the day sneaking peeks at his hand to make sure it looks okay. It will kill me to refrain from saying anything to him, but I know I will irritate him if I fret. I also foresee him doing the dishes in the soap studio with an extra dose of bleach added to the water. I do what I can, dear reader. I’ll also keep you informed about said hand following off. I don’t want that to happen, but boy, would that drive home my I told you so, that I would refrain from saying, of course. Insert wink.


Have a wonderful Monday, dear reader. Also, remember to stay safe, be smart, which means not being a knucklehead, and wash your hands…unlike some bib overall wearing knucklehead I know.

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