Mr. Evil (I Didn't Have the Patience to Go to Evil Medical School)

i think i might be a horrible person (i mean aside from the last two posts), but in the spirit of attempting to be a better person, i'll give you the short version of why:

on Saturday, we took Squirt to lunch and then to play miniature golf. midway through golfing i had the bright idea to buy 3 tokens for the batting cages. after our last hole i gave 1 to stephen, 1 to Squirt and kept one for myself. not unexpectadly, stephen looked surprised when i handed him one, but grabbed a helmet and bat nonetheless. fast forward 10 pitches to when he screams, throws the bat down, grabs his thumb and blows off a litany of profanity that made me blush. we grab an "ice pack" from the attendent (it was a re-filled Dasani Bottle, frozen) and sit on a bench. the thumb, meanwhile, is swelling and turning the most gorgeously un-thumblike shade of cerulean. i'm all set to drive to the hospital.

(begin unnecessarily long flashback) i'm totally thinking back to when i was 7, in Little League and got hit in the thumb by a pitch. mom and dad rushed me to the hospital 'cuz the pressure under my thumbnail was unbearable. we got this doctor who had only been in the United States for 3 days who wanted to use a paperclip and a lighter to relieve the pressure(i swear to god, ask my mother). my mother screamed. my father screamed. i screamed. the nurse screamed that they had a laser for that. the laser was used, the pressure was relieved and eventually the nail turned black and fell off. (end unnecessarily long flashback)

Stephen tells me no, it's not that serious. i attempt 3 more times and get 3 more refusals; everything's fine. he's a PT, i'm in finance. slightly mollified, i grab his discarded bat and helmet and hit 18 of the 22 softballs pitched to me.

fast forward 4 hours (past the kicking myself that i suggested the batting cages and past the frequent suggestions that blue isn't a good color for thumbs and maybe we should go to the hospital) to me standing over the sink, washing a couple of things that can't go in the dishwasher. in walks stephen, clutching his dripping homemade ice pack. "i think maybe i should go get this x-rayed; it might be broken". i ask him to give me ten minutes to finish the dishes and he looks at me like i asked him to cut off a pinkie toe, dip it in sugar and feed it to me. dishes get done, i grab my keys and we head to the ER.
en route, i sheepishly ask him if he would mind if i stop at Starbucks.
same look. so i ask him:

me: is that wrong?
him: ...no. it's fine.
m: no...really...am i a bad person for wanting to finish out my points with an Iced Vanilla Latte` while we're sitting in the ER? i mean, we're gonna be there for at least 3 hours...
h: no...whatever...i guess not.
m: ok...'cuz, well, we waited 4 hours, i figured it wasn't as urgent as all that, y'know?
h: it's fine. whatever.
m: am i being a bad boyfriend again?
h:well, you're not Bree Van De Kamp and i'm not having a heart attack.

everything worked out well. there was no talk of lasers or hot paperclips. the thumb isn't broken, it's only badly bruised. he needs help buttoning his shirt, but aside from that he's ok.
it was a really good iced latte, by the way.