A few weeks ago my husband got the hiccups. But, in typical my-annoying-husband fashion, he couldn’t just get hiccups like most normal people. No, he had to go to extremes – as he always does. He had to go and get the hiccups for four days. Four friggin’ days. I’m sure that it was annoying to him as well. And yes, I know that it’s not his fault, he couldn’t control it, he didn’t like it either, blah, blah, blah.
I had sympathy. Really, I did (though I’m sure the “blah, blah, blah” written above may make you think otherwise). Well, I had sympathy from days 2-3. By the 4th day, I was over it. I was over hearing hiccups. I was over hearing him complain about having hiccups. And I was well and truly over the moaning sound he would make after each and every hiccup. I convinced him to go the doctor because 4 days of hiccups just isn’t normal. The doctor prescribed him something that she said would help get rid of his hiccuping and we headed straight to the pharmacy.
The medicine didn’t work right away; he still had hiccups for a day after that. But since my husband doesn’t do anything halfway, the next day he came home from work and then slept for 14 hours. Fourteen friggin’ hours. Because apparently having hiccups is just. so. exhausting. that it makes one sleep for 14 hours. You know when the last time I slept for 14 hours was? Never. And certainly not since having a kid who rarely seems to sleep through the night anymore and then wakes up at the crack of dawn. But hey, it’s tough to be my husband. Or so he likes to tell me on a daily basis.