Nightly Irritations...



Now- this entire blog was written last night while laying in bed with Hubby for that half and hour before we both fell hard asleep. Somehow the conversation turned to things he does in his sleep (and sometimes wakefulness) at night that bugs the piss out of me. What resulted in frantic notes being taken by myself, stomach aching from raucous laughter for over an hour. Hubby also gave me permission to write what we talked about in my true to every hilarious fashion, knowing full well he’ll take a “raft of shit” from his friends that read this blog, but also admitting that there are probably at least a couple married women that read this blog and will have similar stories. Laughter is the best therapy ladies.

DISCLAIMER: What follows this is a not so cultured perspective on married life. What happens in the darkness of the bedroom. It centers on those not so pleasant bodily functions that “just happen” If you can’t handle fart jokes, poop references, or the ever popular concept of a belch- please stop reading right now. For everyone else that indeed thinks farting is hilarious- read on!

Topic 1: Snoring-
Hubby has mastered what I call “The Snuggle and Snore”. This happens when he is in the place of “big spoon”. He nuzzles his nose somewhere between my ear and throat and once asleep and submerged in his dream world- releases his meaty baritone near my fragile auditory canal. This not only scares me half to death, as I’ve just drifted off to dream land, but has been known to aggravated the hell out of me on a close to nightly basis. It is incredibly worse when he is sick- see Monday’s blog for a prime example.
Most nights, not only is Hubby sawing logs with the best of them, but our loving Doggie Pup joins in. This creates a nocturnal symphony of sorts. Doggie Pup has what we suspect is a deviated septum. We have yet to figure out how exactly to shave her nose bare enough to apply a Breath-Right strip. In the darkness of midnight or early morning- Doggie Pup & Hubby form a little known musical group called Two Baritones and a Tenor. This group is accapella and features the artists- Puppini, Buttoni, and Snozeratti- the later of the two performed by none other them Hubby himself.
Topic 2: Heartburn Routine-
Hubby has been known to have hellish heartburns some evenings- taking Tums prior to bedtime sometime stunts the effects till the wee morning hours. When he awakens with that battery acid sensation in his gut- he quietly goes to the kitchen, preparing his cocktail of relief, baking soda and water, drinking it quickly for it tastes horrible, then returns to the bedroom, grunting and groaning enough to pull me from sleep. Then he sits on the edge of the bed and strikes the pose- arching his back and neck- I can only describe it as the “Constipated Crane” yoga position. Then within a few seconds, release a thunderous yawp of a two tone belch that billows the curtains, ruffles the bedding, and terrifies the piggies in the next room. I roughly awaken to images of an Amtrak train rumbling through our bedroom. After the dust and dog hair settles, he curls up peacefully in bed, like nothing ever happened. Whilst I lay there, wide awake terrified and pumping adrenaline through my sleepy brain considering a shotgun blast close to my ear would have had a more settling effect.

Topic 3: He Gets Hot/ I’m Not Battle-
He gets hot and kicks off the blankets to the foot of the bed in the early morning darkness. The blankets are then confiscated by Doggie-pup, while I lay there shivering to death, wondering what the hell happened to the blankets. After waking up enough to figure out why I’m so cold, fighting with Doggie-Pup for the blankets, I turn to see him lying there, naked, in the “Get the chalk, he’s dead” position. He fills three quarters of the bed with his body in a sprawled position much like a dead body on a cop show. All that’s missing is the chalk outline.

Topic 4: Farting-
The previous gripe leads into a segway, broaching the topic of farting. I gently nudge him to get him to move a little, to give me at least a little room in the bed, often resulting in a fart that would rival that of a dead, sun bloated cow in a distant pasture. I push on him for a few minutes, granting myself enough room to curl up in a fraction of my side of the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if one day, his farts will create a lovely speckle pattern on the ceiling and how much I’d need to spend in supplies to paint it over.
There has been one instance of fart-astic tactical battle. He was in deep sleep, completely unaware of what his body was about to do. I was curled up sweetly against his back, in a reverse little spoon/big spoon arrangement when a thunderous bellow from below shook the bed and I from slumber. In amazement at both the stench and volume of the fart, I was astonished to watch my peacefully sleeping Hubby erupt in a full body shiver, and while rendered completely helpless, he pulled the comforter up over my head and held it tight to his chest. After expelling the cloud of bodily heat- he was cold and pulled the blanket up over my head- effectively giving me a midnight Dutch Oven for no reason at all. While fighting to breath the sweet not poop perfumed air on the other side of the comforter, I finally had to knee him in the spine to get him to release his grip on the blankets. He woke up with a start, grumbling at me “Why did you kick me?” He had no idea what had transpired until the next morning when I told him.
Some evenings, the farting is incredibly intense. In an awakened anger I lay there, pondering the ability to create a reverse Breath-Right strip for his pucker hole. Or perhaps simply running a bead of super glue down that furry cavern of stink and gently pressing the cheeks together under the guise of a “massage” Waiting in stealthy silence for his abdomen to bloat with back pressure… Then in an instant, his sternum would burst open in horror movie fashion and the purple glowing, noxious little fart alien hiding within his bowels would come screaming out. Allowing me the opportunity to finally vanquish the stinky little F*er once and for all.
While we lay in bed last night, hurting from constant laughter at the expense of the jokes we were both cracking a little story popped into my head- one that about had Hubby falling out of bed he was laughing so hard…
“… There once was a magical kingdom, nestled between scenic mountains and lush open meadows- the kingdom of Stank. This kingdom was ruled over by three brothers. The youngest of the three was the most powerful and he was deemed Grand Poobah of the Fart People- Brother Right On. A seemingly sweet man with a wicked sense of humor, he could summon up the immense powers deep within his body to create a most powerful cloud of noxious, caustic gas- releasing it at will and leveling everything for miles.

The second brother, his age being slightly older then Grand Poobah, was a holy man. He oversaw the kingdom with great wisdom and Zen. This was the great shaman "Loomie-Lougie”. He could often be found in deep meditation, seated in his favorite yoga position- Dead Lotus- amongst the beautiful waterfalls and natural hot springs in the kingdom. He also had a philosophy on life that no one could disregard- “He who sits like frog on lily pad, often makes own bubble s in pond…”

The third brother, the oldest of the three, was a great Admiral in the kingdom of Stank’s naval fleet- Hubby. He ruled over and ran everything needed in case of an attack on the peaceful kingdom. He made sure the kingdom was safe from the evil, nearby nation of Urea…”

Hopefully I’ve made you all have a great burst of laughter to lighten you days. May laughter brighten your face like the sunshine outside today!! Comments and feedback are always appreciated.

Comments

  1. HA ha ha! What wonderful observations of sleeping life!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Chuck...youre a lucky man...please dont asphyxiate her!!

    ReplyDelete

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