Forget Me Not Uncommon

So this morning I woke up with a sore throat. It had been a long, hard night with the baby. Another sleepless night for me. Another restful night for J-Fed whose slumber goes undisturbed by baby #2's cries.

While he was going to the bathroom, I called to him from my death bed.

"Could you please get me some cold medicine?" I pleaded, my voice already hoarse.

"Where is it?" he asked unaffected.

"In the medicine cabinet," I replied painfully.

"Which medicine cabinet?" he said, making no effort to disguise the fact he feels inconvenienced by my request.

"The one in front of you," I told him.

Minutes went by. The toilet flushed. The door slammed. More time passed. Yet no medicine. My throat burned. My head pounded and I searched deep within for the energy to keep my eyes open. Sadly, there was no sign of J-Fed coming to my rescue. Finally, I was empowered by anger. I pushed myself to get up from the bed and look for him. I could have just gotten the medicine for myself at this point, but the very thought of his inconsideration drove me mad. Bastard. On the back porch, I found him smoking a cigarette, sipping on a Frap and listening to the birds chirp without a care in the world.

"Are you kidding me?" I said in disbelief.

"What? Like a few more minutes without cold medicine is going to kill you," he replied matter-of-factly.

"You're unbelievable," I seethed.

Paybacks are hell, I told myself already thinking of ways to get even with him. I returned to the bathroom to find relief in the form of two cold tablets. It would take away the physical pain, but there was little chance it was going to ease my mental pain.

"Ok, so I forgot," he admitted a few minutes later. "Are you going to punish me for that?"

Truth be told, I can't blame him for his faulty memory. After all, if I didn't have a sign posted in the bathroom reminding our 5-year-old to wipe her bottom, he'd probably forget to wipe his. P stands for pathetic.

Unhappily ever after,

Kiki