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My children are hypochondriacs.

I don’t think this is a characteristic unique to them in particular.  Rayther, I believe it’s a function of the bubble-wrap age in which we live.  Despite my efforts, the stoic philosophy of “just sucking it up” has not planted itself in the minds of the little darlings.

I say all this because the eldest gel crocked herself in soccer practice, and is now on the way to doc-in-the-box to see about x-rays.  She actually took the toss yesterday, and even then I couldn’t help noticing that her hobble was, shall we say, selective in its appearances.  Today, the pain – THE PAIN! – apparently was too great for her to bear, so it’s heigh-ho, the medicos.

When I was a kid, the general rule was that you weren’t sick until you were dead, and you weren’t dead until you were buried.   Ditto with aches and pains.  Whether this was a function of the Old Gentleman being a doctor himself and therefore fully aware of both the drawbacks of over-medication and the body’s ability to mend many bangs and bumps perfectly well by itself;  the O.G.’s utter lack of sympathy (he was a pathologist and would have starved had he been dependent on his bedside manner); or some combination thereof, that’s the way it was.

Kids today.

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I know this is a lazy form of blogging, but if it’s good enough for Jay Nordlinger, it’s good enough for me.

♦  Another sodden day at the port-swiller residence.  Literally sodden, to the point where you can smell the soak all around.

♦  No, I did not bother with the GOP debate last evening.  I was too busy trying to get the eldest gel’s laptop to make nice with the printer, which proved to be an exasperating ordeal.  By the time that was done, all I wanted was a roast beef sammich, a glass of wine and a good book.

♦  I’m sure I will find a similar excuse for ducking this evening’s POTUS speech.

♦  Quote of the Day (from the eldest gel):  “Dad, you know how kids in 7th and 8th grade are starting to date?  That’s very sweet and all, but I think when they start telling each other ‘I love you’ it’s really kind of ridiculous.”

♦  Happy birthday, Antonin Dvorák, born this day in 1841.  I grow increasingly fond of Dvorak’s musick despite the fact that I’m not much of a fan of Romanticism.

♦   Got an email yesterday noting that next spring will mark my 25th college reunion.  Yeek.  (The email also sought volunteers to serve on the reunion committee.  I don’t know much about these things, but it strikes me they’re leaving things a bit late.)   I have no plans to attend, since I have almost no ties whatsoever left with the old school and not much interest in attempting to renew them.

♦  As I was wrestling with the computer hook- up mentioned above, I overheard a bit of a teevee show that Mrs. R was watching.  I didn’t get the name of the show, but it was on TNT and seemed to involve a “gutsy” (but hawt) female forensic detective.  I stopped to listen a bit more closely because the dialogue was so glaringly caricaturist that I couldn’t believe it:  the entire script seemed to be nothing more than said gutsy (but hawt)  detective effortlessly skewering a series of troglodyte male sexist pigs who sought to either a) objectify her, or b) belittle her.  Clang! Clang! Clang! I thought all that went out with “Maude.”

♦  It’s a curious thing, but Mrs. R is not much interested in my opinion of the quality of teevee script-writing.  Or, as she put it more succinctly, “Shut up.”

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