An Ounce of Sympathy, Please

That's not me, but that's how I feel.

Last week I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism and vitamin D deficiency.

I know what you're thinking. That's the same response my husband had. He might as well have said, "So?" As diagnoses go, these aren't terribly earth-shattering. But to me, it was sweet vindication.

Finally, I had an excuse a reason for my laziness lack of energy. And I wanted some sympathy. I expected to hear something like this: "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry! No wonder you can't get anything done around here! I can't allow you to prepare dinner for us tonight, not in your fragile state.  Where would you like to dine? Or is that too much trouble?  Should I just order takeout?"

Only in my dreams. I cooked dinner that night, just like every other night of my life. The kids complained about what I served, just like every other night of my life. I'm still cooking dinner every night.  The kids are still complaining. And I still can't put onions in anything.