Please don’t judge me too harshly.
I’ve had a little itch.
What?
No! I don’t need directions to an STD website. *slap*
This is an itch of the ethical kind.
It all started when I read a fellow twitterer’s tweet about her devoted pact with her husband- basically they would not tweet mean stuff about each other. I read it in passing and tried to forget about it immediately.
But it stuck in my brain like a lone popcorn husk that lodges itself under your gum. My tongue rubbed over it constantly. It lurked at the very corner of my smile, niggling to be dealt with.
What exactly was the mean stuff???
I was worried. Not tweeting about the *mean stuff* could potentially wipe out half of my repertoire. I have a wonderful husband. But he is human.
If I can’t make some fun of him- what on earth will I write about?? I panicked.
I have nothing. My life is boring! What will I do? Then I felt calm. I haven’t really written anything “bad” per se about him already. Had I? …Had I?
Oh yes…
I did tell you all that he snores. And I guess that is rather personal.
So there’s only one way to deal with this. It’s time to even up the score.
I will now reveal to you all something personal about myself…something about my bedroom habits.
Ahem…okay, here goes…
I snore too.
And I dribble on my pillow.
And I talk a lot in my sleep.
Oh, and I also have that strange dream- where I think I am driving a stick shift in a long rally car race (…but my husband says he really enjoys it when I have that dream so I guess that doesn’t count.)
The snoring is pretty bad. The dribbling is gross. But the talking in my sleep is the worst. I grumble and moan and apparently say whole sentences quite distinctly. Our kids do it too. My son has whole conversations with his dream- pals every night at about 11.30pm. But my daughter, well she is something else. She talks AND sleep walks. When she’s doing it she actually looks awake…but…>insert twilight theme song here< she isn’t. She trolls through the house like a pint sized, golden haired zombie in Hello Kitty pyjamas. When she’s finished she walks back to her bedroom, puts herself back into bed and has absolutely no recollection of her nightly adventures in the morning.
Once, my hubby and I were startled awake- by the light in our bedroom flickering. Our daughter was just standing there, in the doorway, perfectly still, one finger flicking the light switch on and off. On and off. On and off.
On another occasion she came into our bedroom and stood in front of me. I very gently asked her what was wrong and [wait- first imagine really-creepy-little-girl-whispery-voice] she said “I’m looking for my mummy”.
I told her that I was right there.
She said… [hang on, now- imagine really-really-creepy-little-girl-whispery-voice ] “I know, but I want my real mummy.” Shite!
So there you have it. My husband deserves a trophy.
That occasional snore and bum-cough of his I mentioned previously is nothing compared to what we- Dribbly, Chatty and Freaky, do during the night.