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It was very early in the morning one recent weekday; early enough to be mostly dark, but not so early (I thought sleepily) that George should still have been in bed beside me. I opened one eye (and one eye ONLY, because to open both eyes would be risking the self-unforgivable inability to fall back to sleep, of course) and checked the time on one of our two alarm clocks. My suspicions were confirmed: he was in bed loooong past when he should have been gone. In fact...he was quite late.
So (again, with as little effort and movement as possible, maintaining as much of my prone position as I could) I shifted slightly and gently rubbed George's arm. In so doing, I woke a little more than I'd have preferred, but that's because I'm (what George lovingly calls) a freak in that I greatly fear the death of those I love. Shuddup, it's totally normal. Especially when your loved one has diabetes and you've had the fear o' GAWD put in ya by their doctors and the Diabetes Class Teachers From Hell about diabetic comas and Bad Things Happening in the Night. And also if you rilly, rilly LOVE them and they sometimes kick the covers off during the night (which just KILLS my OCD-riddled mind, because doesn't EVERYONE know that that is when the robbers and/or Bad Guys n' Boogie Men come?? When any part of your body below the neck is exposed for more than five seconds!? Cause *I* know this--always have--and I am always very VERY careful to adhere to the anti-robbers-and/or-Bad-Guys-n'-Boogie-Men blanket coverage rules!)
Where was I?
Oh yeah, so sometimes the one you love will forget (or rebel against) the aforementioned coverage rules and will fling his blankets aside, causing his skin to become ICE-like because the room can get quite chilly at night. This is further worsened by the fact that some of these people (read: George) move around and kick a lot during most of the night, but sometimes, in the early morning, they hardly move at all, which can be somewhat alarming when you're used to the bed being a veritable VIBRATION machine. So when I rubbed his arm just a little bit, it was freezing cold AND he didn't respond at first, so I had to roll over to face him and do my one-eye-open thing (Hey! Leave me alone! If there was a problem, I'd have gotten up and if he DID turn out to be alive, there was still the opportunity for more sleep, so it was a balancing act, don'tchaknow, and...well... I'm QUITE skilled). So I slowly slide one eye open and I watch the lower half of his body where the faint light streaming in from the window silhouettes his waist and hips and I watch for even the slightest of movement (read: breathing). I RARELY do this...just so ya know. No really. And I certainly did NOT do this frequently throughout my son's childhood, either. Honest.
A few seconds later, I am relieved to see that George is, in fact, breathing and that I'm free to return to slumber, so I close my Life Checker eye and position one of my 16 various size/shape/softness pillows*** in front of my face to block the light out and I then work on slowing my breathing back down in preparation for my return to
dreamland.
Still, though, I can't fully rest because I know that George is going to be late for work and needs to get up. Clearly his alarm has either not been set, has not gone off, or George has hit snooze so many times that it gave up, pissed off, and went back to sleep itself. This means that I will need to speak, further risking full wakefulness. To minimize the risk, I employ a method used by the uneducated and/or drunk: I do not move my tongue or lips; I basically slur my words and mumble, "See-yee? Yohhh-ay?"
This phrase, while used today with the totally justifiable purpose of sending him off to work, is also employed when there's ...nothing particular going on and I'm simply worrying about whether he's in the throes of a diabetic attack (or...insert any frightening cause of death or vegetative state). My words (which may or may not be more clear than those displayed above) are typically accompanied by some form of mild shaking on some nearby part of his body. This will usually cause him to speak, however unintelligibly which, in turn, calms my Death Fear. I am happy that today is like the others and my slurred mumble is met with a highly relieving reply of "Mumfl!" because sometimes eyes can play tricks on you and what might LOOK like breathing (with one eye open and only partial light filtering through the window) might NOT be breathing at all and it's always better to double-check with a sound and/or a mild shove (but never EVER a kick...nope).
That outta the way, I happily go back to sleep because he's alive and hey...I've done my part: I stroked his arm and asked if he was okay. And really...if he wasn't, I'd know about it, now wouldn't I? And he must still be here for some reason, prolly a good one at that. This is further confirmed to me by how MY sleep-self understood HIS sleep-self's response and we both agreed to sleep on it.
Fast forward an hour and I wake up again and realize that HIS sleep-self is still...doing just that and now it's all SORTS of 7:30, which (if I remember correctly) is juuuust about the time when he is usually sitting down at his desk. I shake him this time, with a bit of urgency, and say "Uh oh...honey...it's 7:30." George replies in his own slurred tongue with, "Thaaaassss nah gooo-uhd" and I, a near-pro lately at being able to talk without actually being awake or aware, respond with, "Nuhht" and even though I'm mostly asleep, I notice a thought drifting through my head which asks, "How to do you spell that? And especially since it requires a soft 'T'? Is there even such a thing? And how do you spell out a soft 'T' anyway?" but I pay it no mind.
We again start falling back to sleep and, at this point, the dog (Bailey, who is conVINCED she is my husband's rightful WIFE) is apparently sick of our idiocy and chimes in with a very loud and uncalled for "Bark!" which startles us both and (sorry honey) seems to elicit a ...gas emission from George who, if at all possible, is approximately 10 times funnier between sleep and awake***, and he says to me in his sleep muffled voice, "Sweetie? You haffa promise me that if they ever make cloning possible? And I am cloned? That you'll remember to shoot the one who doesn't fart."
Gracie, who doesn't need to be awake for QUITE SOME TIME yet (and who, let's remember, is working VERY hard on avoiding just that,) processes very little of this but is still subconsciously disturbed by her husband's request and, thanks to that, is now brought a full two levels closer to Fully Awake and says: "Whuuuuhh??"
George: "Shoot the NON-Farter! 'Cause that's how you'll KNOW me!"
Gracie: "Diddoo juss havva dreeeam?!"
George: *responds in a tone that implies he simply cannot beliEVE that I'd ask such an idiotic question* "Noooo??!!" and gets out of bed, stumbling toward the shower. As he makes his way, he goes on talking, apparently unaware of the fact that MY current need to sleep is waaaaay more important than any ole Cloning Farter details he feels so compelled to share. Still he goes on, "Just REMEMBER!"
Gracie: *who was almost back to sleep, replies half-heartedly and without a HINT of enunciation* "Ummm-huh. Riiiighhh sssyyyeetee. Shoooo duh FARTER. Okee." and I absently pat the empty bed beside me, as if to reassure him. I then roll back over and yank the covers over my face to block any and all light (and, hopefully, SOUND).
No such luck.
George: *stops DEAD in his tracks and utters the following in a MOST horrified tone, as though I've just signed his death warrant* "NOOOO! The NON-FARTER! God! You SHOOT the NON. faaaarrrrr TERRRRR! ....Cause that's not MEEEE!"
Gracie: *feigns understanding* "Ohhhhh"
George: *momentarily relieved* "Sigh. Yes...cause *I* Fart. ....see?"
Gracie: "Riiiigh, Riiiigh yep. Okee. Stinky gets shot. Awrite baby. Yuuuuht. Gottit." and I punctuate this with a wholly unladylike half-snore, half-snort and vividly recall feeling so happy and proud of myself for so completely understanding my husband's needs and humbly ponder, as I drift back to sleep, how happy he must be to have such a loving wife.
George: *Obviously baffled at my unwillingness to grasp this simple--yet utterly serious--matter, he mutters to himself in childlike wonderment* "Geeeeez! I'm-a get KILLED!!"
Keep in mind, here, that not ONCE has the man even tried to explain why any of this is relevant and why I should need to kill anyone to BEGIN with (farting or NOT). And yet...he continues with further instructions:
George: "Okay, LOOK... Just SHOOT the one you DON'T like, how about THAT!?"
Gracie: *Giggles*
George: "WAIT! Nuh-nuh-NO! Nevermiiiine! That won't WORK! ...I'll STILL get shot!" *thinks for second, then...* "Okay, shoot the one who'd utter a romantic soliloquy to save his life, 'k? Cause I would CLEARLY never do that."
Gracie: *still under the covers and trying SO HARD not to become engaged in this conversation* "CLEARLY"
George: "Bitch."
Gracie: "Hey!"
George: "Look, just save the idiot...the one who makes ya CRY all the time. Can ya do that??"
Gracie: *Apparently I'm not displaying my humble, wifely love like I'd assumed, so I try again: "No, no, it's okay, honey, I know it now: Save the Farter!" and then I try not to giggle, because it sounds like something from our
New Favorite Show, but I can't help myself, so I say "Save the Farter, Save the World!" and he skips RIGHT over my profound comedic genius (which I've now proven is in abundance EVEN WHEN I'M MOSTLY ASLEEP), becomes even more agitated and instructs the dog to chew on various sections of my body. But I don't worry too much, because I provide her with waaaaay more treats than he does, so I know she won't take him TOO seriously, even if she does want him all to herself.
When he realizes she won't comply and, in fact, is working just as hard as *I* am to get back to sleep, he huffs into the bathroom and loudly closes the door. He does this when he wants to be a snot because he knows that not only will the loud sound startle me and wake me up a bit, but also because my OCD requires me to then seethe juuuuust a little bit about how very very RUDE that is, further waking me up. Turd.
Ahhhh, but his evil plan doesn't work this time. I only seethe approximately four and a half seconds before passing out and returning to happy happy sleepy time.
A little while later he returns from his shower and while I've forgotten almost entirely what we spoke of back there, I have a vague feeling of being in trouble and I want to show him how much I love him and how I was sooooo listening, so I sleepily holler from beneath my many blankets: "Shoot Stinky!!" and I hear this very loud and exasperated "SIIIIIIIGH" which means I am SOOOO not out of trouble and, in fact, have made things worse (as I am so often wont to do). I can actually HEAR him shaking his head at my stupidity and he leaves the room shortly afterward saying, in complete defeat and yet...in a totally matter-of-fact way: "I'm gettin' a bullet. No way around it."
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*** Pillow Note: All of which are in varying degrees of use and importance on the bed at any given time, depending on my mood, hormones, the weather, my head (and how it FEELS), or even what day it might be. ALL of which are completely valid reasons for having such a plethora of pillows. Back to story
***Example of Funny Sleepin' George: I had to be up verrrry early the next morning and I knew I wouldn't have enough time to do my hair "properly" (takes close to an hour to dry and style it) so I instead took care of it the night before and, just before bed, wrapped my
bangs around a velcro curler to hold the shape (and to rebel against my (#)$*$%@%# cowlick). I was positive this would ensure my timely departure the following morning, which was especially important since I am unable to fall asleep prior to 1:00 in the morning, no matter what I do, and I had to be out of the house by around 6:00, not leaving much time for sleep or makeup or anything. So I'm just about to crawl into bed for my lovely coupla hours of sleep and just as I pull back the covers, George (who, asshole that he is, has been asleep for about four hours by now) senses my presence and does his own squinting One Eye Open action, and like a magnet his eye is drawn straight to the giant yellow curler in the center of my forehead and he actually... burst. out. laughing (which actually sounded like a surprised and prolonged SQUEAL of freakin' DELIGHT...sorta like "Puhhh-HURRRUUUHHHAHAHAHAHAHA!" but...in the voice of a little kid) and I was actually embarrassed, not that HE would notice, of course, cause.... he was back to snoring in less than five seconds. But get this: the man has NO recollection of this. At all. Not one bit of that event. Not the curler, the movement, the deafening LAUGHTER, the sound of my humiliation, just...nothing at all.
Back to Story
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Someone Arrived Here Searching For:
stinky dog pee pills
atkins friendly birthday cake [I'm gonna go out on a LIMB here and insist that you stop calling things that taste like ASS 'friendly', hokay??]
ive had bile duct cancer for one year [wow. I'm...sorry. I have NO idea what to do with this. Without going to hell, of course]
soooo hungry
what to do when you rip a toe nail off [a.) curse; b.) yell at piece of inanimate furniture; c.) hit nearest person; d.) wrap in copious amounts of bandaids and gauze; e.) decide this is totally serious enough of an injury to warrant taking that five-year-old percocet you forgot about till you were rifling through your bathroom cabinet looking for a freakin' condom-where-the-hell-ARE-THEY-ALL!?; f.) limp a really lot, pretend to be stoic and strong; g.) say things like "Oh...I'll do the dishes...just let me find the crutches and I'll be right there!" Be sure to move slowly to ensure that other people have time to feel guilty and offer to do it FOR you. h.) believe wholeheartedly that Gracie would never EVER do any of these things and that she totally just found this list on the internet.]
"butter dog" picture porn
"deaf porn" [gracie: "what the HELL?? HOW is this different??" George: "Seriously. Why don't you just hit MUTE??"]
demerol for ocd [yeah, hope springs eternal!]
tv trays strong
xtra women screwing animals
je suis heureux translation [it means I am Happy. And...ya know what? I am!]
george dammit [I know.]
wife helps husband put on pantyhose [of COURSE she does]
porn hut
fuck black deaf [picky picky!]
the dog could smell her naked ass
fries are hot
pantyhose in train
song thinking other day
cheating slut [wow...and how are YOU today?]
old sayings about eye twitching [that it means...you're annoyed?]
dunking donuts job search [word to the wise: learn to spell the name before you interview with them. Okay...that was more than one word to the wise.]
goot sex [this kills me. Do they mean "GOAT" in which case...ew. Or do they mean "Good" and are just too stupid to know how to spell it?? WHAT??]
pooping at ryan's restaurant throws up in pants [oh my...wow. just...eww and WOW. Also? I do NOT mean that in a GOOD way.]
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