For sale cheap: biker, used, stretched front end, wide glide, custom paint.

This morning finds me stuck at home with TWO children...the goonybird, who has as his excuse lack of years, and the yummy biker, who has NO EXCUSE WHATSOEVER.
Now before you go rolling your eyes and saying "oh geeze, another man-hating 'guys are such children when they're sick' thing" let me just say that this is a 'yummy bikers with Monday-itis make me want to set shit on fire' thing.

Actually, let me qualify that further. The yummy biker has diabetes. Diabetes that is inoxerably making its way from type II 'everybody thinks this can be cured with diet' to type I 'blindness, foot amputation, running sores'. It's genetic. Runs in his family. He could be an uber-healthy kenyan marathoner who subsists on a diet of air and spirulina and it would make no difference.

One of the side effects of diabetes in men is depression. In his case it manifests itself by turning a normally wonderful person into Satan's three-year old boy. This is not an exaggeration, my darlings. I wish it were. He gets phantom stomach aches, gets weekenditis and mondayitis, sulks, pouts, refuses to go to bed...yeah.

Any change in his body chemistry is presaged by odd behavior. He becomes absolutely convinced that we are broke. (remember the last time that happened? He needed his meds adjusted bigtime, turns out.) He also does this thing where he settles in on the sofa for the evening and becomes COMPLETELY INERT. He kind of semi-dozes, semi-watching tv and semi-paying atention. Meanwhile the goonybird could be making long distance calls or butt-naked, chasing the evil dogs with a chainsaw...but if it doesn't happen to cross his line of vision, he takes no notice whatsoever.

Which for some reason makes me blisteringly pissed.

Even though I know its not that big a deal. Still. When he's howling like a bad shakespearian actor for the bazillionth time that day because the goonybird smacked him in the 'nads with a book again, you just want to heave them both out in front of a silage truck.

Heres the problem.

Maybe this isn't Mondayitis.

Maybe he really does have a bug. God knows it's going around.

Or maybe it's not.

Fuck.