Winners and Losers

I may be old-fashioned in this thinking, but I've always subscribed to the belief that men are stronger than women. I mean, there's a reason why there's not a women's baseball or football team. The lines may be blurred regarding which gender wins mentally and emotionally, but physically speaking, I've always been able to say, "Fine. You win."

Well that and I've never done a pull-up in my life, so personally it's a pretty easy concession for me.

The glaring exception to this, however, is pain. Women are much more stoic when it comes to pain.

My father once had his toenail removed. After he was done crying, he took a week's worth of codeine and we found him passed out on the bathroom floor. After an unfortunate accident lifeguarding, and I too was missing a toenail. I simply put a Band-Aid on it so I wouldn't have to look at it while it grew back.

You want to talk pain? We get cramps that feel like someone is tattooing our uteruses from the inside. Every month. That shit hurts, yet we are expected to get fully dressed and go into work and have clever thoughts all day long whereas we really want to lie in the fetal position and suck our thumbs while guessing what symbol is getting inked on our insides this month. I would like to see a man deal with that.

But not Adam.

In my morning e-mails from Adam, he briefs me on his gym class and what new injury he sustained that morning. The first week I felt sympathetic for him. Starting a new workout routine is very painful. Moreover it's not a pain others can see: there's no cut, no blood.

By the second week, I thought, Wow, this guy kinda complains a lot.

By the third week I thought, I wonder if complaining is just his thing?

Yesterday I get my morning report from Adam. Oh, looks like he reinjured his hamstring. He'll just do what he's done in the past-- moan about it all day long and be fine the next morning.

By lunch I received an update-- he tried to "be a good boy" and iced his leg.

I laughed.

By my nightly e-mail, it seemed poor Adam's leg had worsened:

This was a bit much, even for a girl whose father ODs on codeine for a toe nail.

"You have a wound on top of a wound on top of a wound?" I wrote. "Give it a couple of days before you get all hypochondriac on yourself and start diagnosing yourself off the internet."

For the record, I would have said that to any of my friends had they pulled the same thing.

Adam was not happy with my response:

Any mention of pending plans this weekend were dropped.

Was I too harsh? Maybe. I opened the reply window and typed, "Aw, I feel kinda bad for calling you a hypochondriac." I stared at my words. No, better not use the H-word again seeing as how it didn't go over so well the first time. I deleted and started again. "Aw, I feel kinda bad about the teasing I gave you," I wrote. "Glad it is easily remedied."

"Hehe..." he replied. "It's ok, I'm tough."

I laughed so hard I drooled on myself.