For another look at what I am talking about, be sure to scroll down and read my post about Micah and the barcode scanner addiction he has.
A few nights ago I wrote on Bluepaintred that my husband was finally going to the doctors to get his foot x-rayed. he fell down the stairs four, FOUR, moths ago, and finally gave in and decided that it should be looked at by a professional.
Why do men DO this? Their obsession with doing things all by themselves, accepting no help, it boggles the mind!
"Naw, I'm not going to stop and ask for directions, it's around here somewhere"
"Hell, I can bag my own groceries twioce as fast as they can"
My husband will sit and moan about a headache, and when I suggest he take and Advil or Tylenol for it, he is all "Nah, it will go away on it's own". Dude. If the pain is bad enough that you have to bug ME about it, take the damn pill!
And this, this is the icing on the "Men!" cake. This is a perfect example of a man who won't accept help:
Nearly ten years ago, my husband was working as a cook in a restaurant in town, Moxies. It was late at night, around ten PM and he was cleaning out the deep fryer at work. There are two sizes of deep fryer there, a big one and a small one, and thus, two sizes of metal rods that are used to push through blockages in the deep fryers. My husband picked up the small sized one and shoved it into the deep fryer. Because it was not the proper size, he shoved his hand, up the the wrist in HOT fry grease.
His co-workers sprayed some stuff for grease burns on his hand, and gave him a bucket of ice to put his hand in. He drove across the street (after telling his co workers, no, I don't need a ride, even though he was driving a stick shift vehicle at the time - those take two hands to drive, by the way) to a medical center.
The medical clinic across the street was closed, and instead of heading tot he nearest hospital, he drove across town to join me and some friends for coffee. We peered into the bucket, and upon seeing the chinks of flesh that had peeled off his hands and fingers floating in the bucket, we insisted he go straight to the hospital emergency room. It took me and two other friends almost half an hour to convince him that he HAD to go.
He had second and third degree burns on his hand, and we had to go back every day for weeks for them to peel more dead skin off, apply cream and re bandage his hand. AND YET, HE WASN'T EVEN GOING TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL~!
(Now we joke about the incident; "they asked for Chicken fingers, NOT fingers!")