April 4th, 2008
The Rock got de-rocked today and after four Vicodin, he felt a little woozy.
He has this thing where he’s convinced he’s immune to anesthesia because when he was 5 the novacaine didn’t work and he felt his tooth being pulled. So today, the same thing happened: he felt sharp probing objects down there (THAT part didn’t happen with the dentist) and the doctor kept giving him Vicodin so he would relax.
So I pick him up and he’s convinced that he is still unaffected by the medication. And I’m trying to tell him that he’s all “drawly” and he says that’s not a word and to say “slurring” and I say I’m a writer and I’m allowed to make up words if they should be words and we go on like this until he stops me with a sober, “I’m mad at the doctor.”
He said it so petulant and child-like that I burst out laughing.
“No really,” he sulked. “I’m mad at the doctor.”
I stopped laughing. This must be serious. I ask, “Why, honey?”
The Rock’s frown deepened.
“Because he didn’t ask to see pictures of our kids,” he pouted.
Then, with a heavy sigh:
“And now he’ll never know how cute they are.”
So is it the Vicodin or is this what happens to men after they’re neutered?