I am pretty sure that Darth Vader and Chewbacca have decided to not only be lovers, but to have their secret trysts in my bedroom, hiding their rambunctious (and noisy) love play in the dark recesses of my room on the other side of my Sweet and silently sleeping partner. I mean, the hubby swears it is definitely not him snoring, so this is the only other logical conclusion one can make, right? Cheap bastards. The entire galaxy, and you wind up in my tiny room? I mean, what unmitigated gall!
I love the man dearly, but cutting into my much needed beauty sleep is a big no-no. Sleep deprivation makes me an even odder person. I already struggle with social norms, and temper management on a full night’s sleep. Extreme sleep deprivation could escalate into MEGA BITCH territory, and no one wants that. Be afraid, people. Be seriously afraid.
Having been married longer than I was single at this point, I am very aware of his sleep patterns. So, when he has gained weight in his midsection and that weight is trying to strangle him in his sleep- I notice. When the snoring continues for extended lengths of time, I contemplate (only contemplate) helping. I try the “hey-there-big-fella” arm rub to wake him up just enough to get him to roll over on his side so that I can go back to sleep, but after doing that 15-20 times in one night, the idea of just planting my feet in his ass and shoving has much more merit.
Today on my way home I am picking up some meal replacement shake stuff. I am not going to say it’s diet time for him necessarily- but maybe he will see that I am trying to shed some winter bloat and he will get on board. Although he stubbornly insists (such a girl) that he weighs the same as he did in high school. I disagree, but I have not seen the scale numbers. I only know that the last time we bought pants, the waist was in a higher circumference than they were back then. And muscle weighs more than fat. Just saying. I have no room to judge- as I know I am much heavier than I was in high school. Ok, maybe not pound wise- but I do not have the tone that I had then, and my clothes are ridiculously bigger than they were then. I tried putting on my FFA jacket (shut it.) about a year ago, and I felt very Chris Farley from the scene “Fat guy in a little coat” in Tommy Boy. Sad. And don’t even get me started on how my wedding dress fits.