My husband is mad at me. I know this because when my alarm went off this morning, the second that my brain engaged enough to tell my hand to slap the button off- I knew. I couldn’t hear him breathing (or snoring) next to me. The room lacked the basic warmth of his presence. I had slept fabulously. Peacefully, undisturbed and I am pretty sure I didn’t move once. In twenty-two years of living together he has only ever gotten mad enough at me one other time to sleep on the couch. (That one was actually a hilarious story about rice, electric blue drinks, a wild bachelorette party and my inability to get into our waterbed without bashing the top half of my body into the headboard due to severe inebriation. Another story for another time.)
I hate when he is mad at me. It puts a little hole in my heart all day. Sigh. You know why he is mad? This is why
After I woke up enough to discover he wasn’t next to me, I figured that after a long night of playing darts with his buddies, that he must have decided to watch some boob-tube and passed out on the couch. Normally I am a light sleeper and the noise of him shutting the screen door will wake me up enough to make sure he locks the doors, and doesn’t sleep on the couch too long, since he has a bad back and I would assume our lumpy couch would be worse on him than our posturepedic. Last night though, I was sleeping too hard to even notice that he didn’t make it home. After brushing the hair off my teeth, I went to wake him up. That conversation was a little different than I thought it would be.
ME: Hey. You fell asleep on the couch. Tie on a good one last night, did you?
Him: No. I slept out here on purpose. I figured that if I slept out here you wouldn’t have anything to write about me tomorrow.
Huh. I did not see that coming. And, well, you were wrong on that one, weren’t ya buddy? The overall TONE of what I am writing today is vastly different, I will give him that. Although I am really sorry that I hurt his feelings, this is a personal blog. Which tells the story of my life, and as a starring character in that story- he will be written about. Often. Not always in the best light. Because, hey- my story, and I can’t really help it that the funniest things in life are usually the most prickly.
On the flip side of that would be the fact that I don’t care to have him pissed at me (at least not often, and when I don’t feel like I said anything offensive. Well, I guess there was the “girl” comment.), and I definitely don’t want him to sleep in another room every night- even though I slept fantastically. Truth is, if the choice is to be sleep deprived and have my cuddle buddy, or to be well rested and to not have him, I will take the sleep deprivation every time. It may be grudgingly, and with a malicious edge, but I love that man, and (for the most part) I love sharing my life and my bed with him. NOT my pillows though. That’s like sharing a tooth brush and is disgusting.
Behind the snoring comedy is the worry that he is not taking the time to adequately care for himself. I don’t know what I would do without him, so I will harangue, harass and bully that man until he capitulates and starts to take care of himself.
He is the sun in my universe, and it would be absolute darkness without him.