Our Hamster, the Tyrant

After a year of marriage, I decided to purchase a hamster for my wife. 

Neither of us had ever owned a hamster and we thought that this would be a great way to venture into the realm of being future parents.  They are incredibly low maintenance as well as they tend to do their own thing, regardless of where they just may be; hamsters are easy to emotionally detach from, considering they have no control over their bowel movements.  The world is their toilet, and given the opportunity, they would pop-a-squat on the whole of it.

Within the first few days of owning the hamster, both the Doc-ling and myself were intrigued by her idiosyncrasies.  She loved chewing on her cage, rolling around her bedding like a dog, storing an entire bowl of food into her cheeks in the matter of a day, and chewing on her cage some more. 

We ultimately decided to name her Tasty, just in case she escaped and the cat got to her.  That way we could argue that her fate was laid out from day one.

It was a few months in that we realized Tasty was more self-aware than she was letting on.  She had this uncanny sense of timing where she would start running in her wheel any time Med Student and I were eating something unhealthy.  She would continue running for entire movies, eventually stopping when we would pack up for bed.  We thought this was all coincidental at first, but it happened so often that I started to feel that she was intentionally timing this emotional sabotage.

I figured she was just being passive-aggressive towards us.  Little did I know that there were so many nefarious ideations in that adorable little hammy head.  These suspicions arose whenever I would try to take her out of her cage.  She would become a tiny tornado of cute razor teeth, attacking any foreign thing that dared enter her lair.  The instant I pulled my hand out, she would follow and become docile the moment she was out of her cage, willingly climbing into my hand for what I assumed was a nice cuddle session.

Pre-Cage Extrication:

Post-Cage Extrication:

She would then wander about, scaling negative angle summits on the couch, defecating wherever she pleased.  Explore here, wander there, she seemed to always have an agenda with her travels.  When finished, she never had a problem or challenge returning to her cage.  It was as if she were inspecting the outside world, taking mental notes of the room and what was in it.  I could see the tiny little cogs working constantly inside her head.  Even when she ate, she looked like she was scheming, her eyes boring holes straight into my brain, seeming to delve for answers that she needed for some deep and dark purpose.

Then it dawned on me.  What if Tasty was a tyrant, plotting to take over the world at any given chance?  Like Brain without his foil, Pinky, she had the makings to accomplish this.  The only things keeping her plans from coming to fruition are her cage and her caretakers-- Wife and myself.  Yet, I feel that even the Baby Doctor has been swayed by Tasty's undeniable cuteness and superb wordless rhetoric. 

This motivated me into studying her in a hope to possibly stint her attempt at world domination.  I've watched from a distance.  Her plans have slowly become clear to me.  You see, she needs a team, and I feel that I've discovered their roles accordingly:

She's already won over the turtle, Koopa.

The cat, Noel.

And my wife.

All that stands between her and the world are the dog, Chie...

And myself.

If she were to get her wish and sway us, I could only imagine the horrors that would follow...

The Shower Test

My wife is a ridiculous person.

Since we've been married, every day has been an adventure.  I'm not trying to be sappy, although I know it can be interpreted that way.  I'm talking about an adventure in the "fending for my life" kind of sense.  There's times with beautiful moments of love and happiness.  And there's times where I'm constantly on guard, literally having to look over my shoulder in fear of an unwarranted attack at any time.  I want you to know that I'm not trying to sound like a victim; the attacks are completely unwarranted.

Attacks.  That is how to describe them.  Whether I'm cooking, cleaning, watching TV, or any other seemingly nonchalant activity, I'm never safe.

Her reasoning for attacking me in the shower was sweet.  She wanted to make sure that I would be okay if I were in a shower while in jail and someone-- anyone-- thought I was cute.  I have a spit-shined clean record so there is no feasible reason for me to be in prison.  I guess it files under one of those "better safe than sorry" categories.   She said I passed, which is probably the only comforting thing from the entire situation.

Let's be honest here. Is it so much for my benefit or is it a possessive thing on her part?

People think I'm kidding when I talk about this, but I'm not creative enough to make this stuff up.  My wife tried to attack me when I was most vulnerable.  I'm not sure people understand what showers mean to me-- to most people.  It's a shrine, a peaceful getaway from a cruel and fast-paced world.  In the shower I can sing, philosophize, imagine, and create.  I do my best thinking while showering, potentially brewing the key ideas to fixing the world.  At least I did when I thought it was a safe haven.  She almost took that away from me.

Maybe there is something to the shock treatment she gave me in that situation.  She did give me a little bit of security.  That is, I can defend myself while in the shower.  That realization has made me feel like I can take on the world.

She always keeps me on my toes, that's for sure.

I also lock the door when I shower now.

I married a med student

Hey there.

Well, I married a med student.  Truth is, she was set to go to med school when we started dating.  I kind of knew what I was getting into, but I guess I didn't realize the exact scale of what that entailed.

Being married to a med student is an adventure in itself.  You share most of the all-nighters, stress over the same tests, and enjoy a vicariously similar schedule.  You become the wife, whether you're the man or the woman.  Let's face it--  if you're married to a med student, you've cooked your fair share of dinners, done most of the laundry, taken up a habit of cleaning the house, and have been responsible for both your own as well as their hygiene.

So, in truth, I'm a man-wife.  I'm proud of it.  Well... most of the time.

If you're like me, you've never really had any inclination to be a doctor.  Never really crossed my mind as a profession I'd take much interest in.  Thus, I'm not in med school.  Between the two of us, she's got 95% of the brains in the relationship.  This is all apparent when I help her study and she spends a majority of the time correcting my pronunciation of medical terminology.  I have a pretty good grasp on the English language.  On that tangent, I think that medical terminology should be more accessible for layman knowledge.  For example, I think that "myostatin deficiency" should be renamed to "Anti-Hulk deficiency".  It makes more sense that way, leaves you with a feeling of awesome.

This is an interesting condition I learned within a week or so of marrying my wife, hereby identified as... wife.

I thought things were pretty smooth for our first two weeks of marriage.  We hit the regular speed bumps.  We adjusted to sharing living conditions with one another, having lived in separate homes until we married.  I adopted her cat as my own, vowing to love her as if she were my own child.  I moved some of my stuff into the box we called an apartment.  It really wasn't so bad.

Everything seemed to be going well.  Two weeks in, we had a conversation that lead me to believe otherwise.

Where'd that come from!?

Seriously, that's exactly how it went down.  She fell asleep instantly and I just laid there, guessing and second guessing.  I finally fell asleep an hour or so later.

The scary part wasn't the "why" behind that statement.  She told me there was nothing I did to bring that on.  She just felt compelled to give me that as a friendly caveat.  The scariest part was the how.  I can't tell you for liability purposes, though.   Believe me.  It would work and no one would ever find out how.

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Here's a picture of a myostatin-deficient dog.  Think of the conversation you would have at the dog park if this was yours!

"What does your dog like to do?"

"The usual.  Play fetch, run around.  Yours?"

"Ehhhh, same.  He also likes to dead lift the car from time to time."