Watermelons and walnuts

Today Bonnie had her puppy-oven removed. The poor little angel has slept away the afternoon and valiantly if gingerly walked to the kitchen for pain medicine and dinner. Having survived an abdominal surgery and a childbirth, I wince to think of her pain.

By comparison, when Cody got the big snip, we were warned he may be lethargic and otherwise Man Coldy for a few days. Instead, he came trotting out, went home and immediately jumped up on the couch, then ate a full dinner. He was too young and innocent to know he was belying the farcical qualities of male pain.

I'm not saying guys don't feel pain. I'm saying that feminine pain can't be contained in a sac. *badump bum*

So I'm not a dude, and I can't ever experience the highs and lows of dangling participles. Incidentally, Noah was reliving the time he was tazed the other day, and almost had a PTSD-like experience thinking and talking about it (it actually is a lot more torturous than what a perp experiences, because the police know it's coming and actually have to lie down, allow the wires to be alligator-clamped to their person in strategically horrible and precise locations, and take it full on for several seconds). I'd be interested to hear from a female officer who's also given birth to see which was worse.

For now, I'm going to insist that comparing feminine pain to masculine pain is like comparing watermelons to walnuts.