On A Scale From One To Ten

Months ago, I met Dave in the Emergency Room. He had a bad case of pneumonia (this story in and of itself is well worth telling... but I should really ask Dave's permission first...) I had been shooting a wedding, so I got there as soon as I could - and saw Dave in more pain than I thought was possible. Every time he moved, he winced. Sitting up was just as painful as lying down... So needless to say, I was a little surprised when a nurse came in and asked him to rate his pain, on a scale of one to ten (one was a mosquito bite; ten was torture-induced capital P-A-I-N)

"Two," he said. The nurse left.

Ok. The doctor came in shortly afterwards. He asked Dave to sit up. (wince) The doctor listened to his heart and asked questions. He ordered morphine. Dave winced again as he gingerly laid down. Minutes passed. When the nurse returned, she again asked about the pain.

"Two," he said. The nurse left.

After she walked out of the room, I was incredulous. "Two?" I asked. "What are you talking about? It's seven. The answer is always seven!" I stormed out of the room and told the nurse that Dave was ready for his morphine.
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The other day I did something incredibly annoying to Dave (I can't remember what. I say so many annoying things). "Am I a pain?" I asked. "Yes," teased Dave. "So. On a scale from one to ten, how big a pain am I?"

"Two," he said.

"So," I asked, "Does that mean seven?"

Immediately knowing the hospital reference, Dave just winced and sat down.

I guess there are questions I just shouldn't ask!