My lovely wife Darlene constantly reminds me of her twenty years of medical experience.
She does. And it drives me nuts.
For every ailment that I endure – my lovely wife is there to care for me. It's a wonderful luxury to have such a medical expert at our avail.
But there have been many times in the duration of our matrimonial bliss that I have been forced to see a doctor or go to the walk in clinic – for things that are not issues worth medical attention – after being continually reminded by my registered nurse and lovely wife that she does indeed have twenty years of medical experience.
"That needs to be looked at …" may be the start of the conversation.
"It's nothing and it is not bothering me, it will go way", I commonly respond.
"Who is the nurse here", she will start. "Who has a medical degree with letters behind their name?", she will continue. "Who in this house has …"
"… twenty years of medical experience" , I will repeat back to her.
And then off I go to the doctor's office or clinic. And a morning is lost to a visit I didn't need to bother with.
So imagine my complete joy when my lovely wife Darlene, the Registered Nurse with letters behind her name and twenty years of medical experience – so I am told – made a startling discovery.
As you may recall from a prior story I have published here earlier this summer called "house full of kitty", we became the proud owners of two little kittens. A pair of female kittens my little girls named Misty and Spice Kitty. They were six weeks old and the offspring of a neighborhood stray.
We had taken the kittens to the vet for their vaccinations and had them registered. We had the paperwork – we had the expert look at the kittens – because the good veterinarian does indeed also have twenty years of veterinary medicine experience and has letters that follow his name.
One recent evening – upon returning home from the office – I found a salesman at the door discussing the state of the shingles on our eight year old home. As I worked my way between them to put away my briefcase and my car keys, I turned to find myself face to face with this persistent door to door agent of a local home renovations firm, working hard at his task to inform me my eight year old shingles – rated good for twenty years – were shoddy looking in comparison to those of my neighbors.
"My lawn is not as good as theirs either", I argued.
"I can't help you with that, but our metal shingles for the low cost of thirty thousand dollars …."
A shriek came from the family room downstairs. I was certain that my lovely wife Darlene had also heard this amazing low discount price.
In seconds my lovely wife came hurrying up the stairs, and I thought she was coming to my aide to help usher this lunatic out of our house … but I was wrong.
Darlene - a medical professional with twenty years experience, and letters after her name – was holding the kitten named Misty. She was carrying her as if she had just peed on the floor - under her kitty armpits – her underbelly facing me.
"Well don't let her pee on me too!", I shouted stepping back.
Dar turned to the lunatic roofing salesman and shouted "Look! Look!"
So we both looked.
"He has gonads!" she screamed.
"He?", I was surprised.
"He!" she screamed again. "Look".
"Huh", said the lunatic salesman, amused by my lovely wife's concern. "So you thought you had a female?"
"Yes!" she screamed again. "But look!"
"She's a he alright" I answered.
The salesman looked at me. "How did you not realize this was a male cat?".
"I never had a reason to look", I replied. "You see my wife is a …"
"I have papers from the vet that say Misty is a female!" interrupted my professionally registered wife. She dropped Misty to the floor who landed on her … his … feet and ran into the living room. Darlene shuffled through a drawer beside the fridge and took out a piece of paper.
"There! There see! Misty is a female!" she said a bit more defensively than I expected.
"So now Mr. Brill, this DVD will explain all the details …" said the salesman, returning his focus to the matter at hand.
let me ask you…", I turned to the salesman, "… how many years have you been selling metal roofing?"
"Why I am proud to tell you I have successfully satisfying people's roofing needs now for twenty years." He held out a card with his name on it, and behind his name were some letters.
"I bet you have", I smiled. "Thank you sir, I will examine this DVD with all sincere investigation. But as you can see, we have quite an urgent kitty gender confusion issue that we must deal with immediately so I thank you for your time and we will likely be In contact with you soon, I have your card right here…", and I successfully shuffled the salesman out the front door to the porch, and closed the door behind him.
"A kitty gender confusion issue?", asked my still stunned lovely registered nurse of a wife with twenty years of medical experience to her name.
"Yes, my dear".
"But the vet said …"
So for the last several weeks I have had quite a bit of fun reminding my wife of the duration of her medical experience and her apparent inability to tell a girl from a boy. I will savor this event for decades yet to come, anytime my own judgment of my own medical condition is questioned by my lovely wife Darlene.
What a glorious day.
And now we call the kitten "Mister".