Call me a Doctor

Originally, the purpose of this page was to share the woes of being a princess forced to live in exile on the prairies. But today I need to vent. I have no doubt that I am royalty. If not, how could we explain that my husband (yes, the Commoner) insists on living like the King.

Yes, I agree he is delusional. I mean King Stephan is the true King but somehow the Commoner thinks he should be treated in the same fashion. With the proper encouragement and the promise of sexual favours, the Commoner can be persuaded to work. We use the word loosely because I've seen what he does and there should be no man that gets paid that much to do so little. But I digress. The Commoner will work for 2 weeks and then declare he needs a week off. Being the brave soul that I am I cope with this. Now suddenly, the Commoner has developed a pinched sciatic nerve. His masseuse told him to take it easy. It took me 2 days to tell the difference. For 10 days now, I have tolerated the moaning, the groaning, the limping. I have done all the cleaning, the shopping, etc. But will the Commoner see a doctor? No, because no medical degree can compete with the knowledge of the coffee shop. That is why it is so difficult to keep a doctor in small towns on the prairies. It's the lack of work. No man ever really needs a doctor when you can get expert advise at the local diner.

Sometimes I wake up grumpy. Sometimes I let him sleep. So I bravely get out of bed each morning to make the coffee and head off to the office. I call home throughout the day with words of encouragement and gentle suggestions of perhaps a trip to the doctor. But no, the Commoner would rather head to the coffee shop and enjoy the sympathies of his peers.

I trudge home to care for the wounded. I give this 3 more days. If there is no improvement I can't help but feel obliged to put him out of his misery. If he were a dog I would take him to the vet to be put down. I feel that as my husband he deserves as least the same treatment as a dog.