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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.
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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