My Right To Whine

     Have you ever noticed when you are legitimately sick those closest to you seem to suddenly lose any modicum of compassion they once possessed? This does not happen to anyone as much as it happens to the Alpha Female of the household - the one who is seen as ever-complaining, never happy, martyristic, and endlessly griping. This opinion is usually clenched in the mental fist of the Alpha Male and/or any siblings of the Alpha Female (especially female siblings).


     Take, for example, this weekend. Although a frantic search of the house failed to uncover the one remaining reliable thermometer, I was told by Alpha Male, (via phone since he and little Beta Female are out of town), that I did not look for it well enough. You cannot miss it. It is bright yellow and has the face of SpongeBob SquarePants plastered on top of it. With body aches and chills that rattled my teeth, I decided to go ahead and try the thermometer that I already knew was not accurate. I waited for the beep. Twelve minutes later, when there was no beep, I decided that I must be "done" and I removed the thermometer from my mouth. My temperature was 96.2. Either I was dead, dying, or I had just dug myself out of an avalanche. I deduced that the thermometer was indeed suffering from a depleted battery.
     The phone rang. It was Alpha Male. "What was your temperature?" he asked.
     "Nintey-six-point-two," I replied. "The thermometer isn't working."
     "NO FEVER," I heard him announce to my mother and sister.
     "I can tell I'm running a fever," I told him. "When I take Tylenol I stop aching and I can finally sleep, and I wake up drenched in a sweat."
     "It's hormones," he said. "How much have you gotten done for the yard sale?"
After a coughing, hacking, sneezing fit I finally spoke to my Alpha Sibling, who promptly told me that if I would just push myself like she and the rest of the working women of America do, I would build my stamina and join the productive forces of society. On that note, I finished hacking up the rest of the phlegm which had taken residence in my alvioli, and told her I was sure she was right. There is no point arguing with self-imposed royalty; it's better to just bite your tongue until it swells to double it's normal size, and hush. Although quite painful, this is one of the most effective ways I have found to keep my mouth shut.


     Why is it that so many women have lost their right to whine? When we are legitimately ill, it is often dismissed as PMS, hypoglycemia, or ill-fitting underwear. Then, as if challenging our claim, we are usually told to seek medical attention immediately.
     "Well if you're THAT sick then you need to go to your doctor," I was told by Alpha Sibling. "Otherwise, you must not be in too bad of shape."
     "Nyep, nyer righ," I replied. "I nyust fighn."
     "What? Why are you talking so weird?" came the irritated response from the other side.
     "My nongue ih nyus swowehn. I miht iht rearry, rearry harh."