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Quasimodo? Oh, Sorry Hubbster! It’s you!

Men are strange creatures, aren’t they?

Not strange in the way they use the word ‘strange’ to describe women, meaning they can’t work us out, of course.  (Let me just give you the heads up boys, ‘listening’ helps…alot!)   Unfortunately, for them, men are often very predictable creatures…but strange nevertheless.

As I mentioned a few days ago, Hubbster had an operation on his eye to remove a growth which was the result of sun damage.  By all accounts, and believe me he insisted on giving me every last gory detail, it was not a very pleasant operation.  With a patch over one eye, an ache in his eyeball, and a few painkillers under his belt, Hubbster took himself off to bed at dinner time last night.

Poor darling!

I felt sorry for him.  I wanted to pack the kids off to bed and nurture him.

Poor, poor darling!

I woke this morning to the sound of The Woo and Foghorn in the next room playing with their Leapster Explorers.  (They have been an absolute god-send in keeping the boys occupied while we get an extra twenty minutes sleep in the mornings.  God bless you Leapster!).

Hubbster woke too, and in a feeble croak asked if I could get him two Panadeine Forte for the pain. 

So much for the extra twenty minutes of sleep!

Later in the morning the clinic called to see how he was baring up.

After speaking to the nurse for a few minutes, he announced that he had been told to take off the patch and start trying to use the eye as much as possible.  Since the children were almost ready for child care, he decided to come along for the ride and give me a hand.

Now this is where the story gets strange.

Having hauled the children out of the car, and hung their back packs on their shoulders, I locked up the car.  Following behind the children, Hubbster must have been suddenly seized by the realisation that the child care centre was full of women, all ready to ooze out that wonderful female sympathy in his direction.

But did they know about the operation he had endured?  Would they ask him how he was feeling?

I watched with curiosity as Hubbster began to develop a slight limp.

At first it was barely noticeable, but by the time I had punched the code into the keypad and let my brood in through the door, his transformation was complete.  Quasimodo lurched down the corridor behind the children clutching his eyeball.  It was clear to me that this involuntary response was caused by the same gene that mutates a common cold into man-flu.

By the time I had settled Bubble into her room and made my way to Foghorns class, Hubbster already had two carers captive and was up to the ‘needle in his eye’ part of the story.

When he had lapped up the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhhs’ to his heart’s content, and no doubt traumatised several small children with his ghastly appearance, we made our way back to the car.

And of course, as I am sure you can guess, not the slightest hint of a limp or a squint in sight!

So, that is my example of how men are strange creatures.  Do you have a story of your own to back up my theory?  Or should I be changing my statement to ‘my husband is a strange creature?’



Jolene enjoys writing, sharing and connecting with other like-minded women online – it also gives her the perfect excuse to ignore Mount-Washmore until it threatens to bury her family in an avalanche of Skylander T-shirts and Frozen Pyjama pants. (No one ever knows where the matching top is!) Likes: Reading, cooking, sketching, dancing (preferably with a Sav Blanc in one hand), social media, and sitting down on a toilet seat that one of her children hasn’t dripped, splashed or sprayed on. Dislikes: Writing pretentious crap about herself in online bio’s and refereeing arguments amongst her offspring.

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