Dickishness baffles me.
Today, one of the attending physicians showed up in the unit right before I went to work.
Now, this dude is one of the more socially ept surgeons we've got. He's a popular guy: well spoken and attractive (and believe Auntie Jo when she tells you that "well-spoken" is not a backhanded compliment a la Joe Biden; it's rare in neurosurgeons) and generally well-liked. He and I had a brief conversation back before I had surgery: he'd asked what was going on, and I'd told him, and further told him (in response to the same joke I'd heard 5,000 times by then) that I was really afraid of how I'd sound after the procedure.
I was--and still am, though to a lesser degree--self-conscious about the way I sound. This week I've had a bit of a swollen throat, thanks to allergies, so I sound much more nasal and stuffy than usual, and my nasal airway is pretty closed off.
So when Dude-Bro showed up on the floor and asked if I had a cold, I didn't think much of it. The woman who was working with me (the lovely and protective Kari) said, darkly, "She doesn't have a cold; she had surgery." Doctor Dude-Bro then said, "I know....so, you got a cold, or what?"
This was me just then:
Then, as I was driving home, I had a chance to think about it. Really think about it: that Dr. Dude-Bro, in addition to throwing me under the bus a scant two hours later, went out of his way to be prickish right then, and for no reason.
This was me just after that realization hit:
I'm just gonna go eat nachos now, and maybe watch Enchanted.
*I don't know what that means, either, but it's Dorothy Sayers so it's got to be good.