Part-time Homicidal Maniac
Recently, my loving Husband has taken up the habit of trying to kill me in his sleep. Not in my sleep, in his sleep. Trust me, I’m not doing a lot of sleeping right now.
It started a few months ago when I awoke to him shouting, “GET OUT OF HERE!”
Startled, I sat up in bed just as he went crashing into my pillow, where he promptly wrestled the stuffing out of the poor thing.
Don’t get me wrong, most of the time Husband is a soft-hearted teddy bear.
Actual homicidal maniac (also known as Grandpa)
One time he trimmed our dog’s toenail too close and was so emotionally traumatized by the thought of injuring her, he refused to ever do it again.
We once had a raccoon in our house and after animal control trapped it in their net, he got all choked up thinking about “what will happen to the little guy.”
And, after watching Marley and Me he sobbed so loud I had to turn the TV up.
I’m sensing a theme here that has to do more with animals and less with humans. But, let’s continue anyway.
Husband has always been a sleep-talker, or should I say, sleep-arguer. Maybe this happens to all spouses married to lawyers but it’s a little alarming to me. For example, I shake husband’s shoulder to say “Roll over on your side, you’re snoring” and he sits up to explain to me in his courtroom voice that “obviously I’m already on my side because this (insert Vanna White-type sweeping hands) is the center of the bed and I’m (more sweeping of hands) over here.”
He drops onto his back to continue his sound sleep, and his obnoxious snoring. I spend the rest of the evening tossing and turning while I struggle to compose a snappy retort. (I have yet to come up with one.) In the morning, he remembers nothing of the events that transpired in his sleep and cheerily kisses me good morning.
I’m learning to sleep with one eye open, but recently missed the rustling sounds that indicate a possible attack. I awoke to husband’s hands wrapped around my forearm, attempting to strangle it to death. I’m not sure what demons are chasing him, but I have to admire his willingness to turn and fight.
I remember a time I was walking with my small nephew, Josh, when his much older and taller cousin, Ben, jumped out and yelled “BOO!” Josh immediately grabbed his walking stick and poked Ben in the eye. While I, without a care for my poor little nephew, turned and ran [similar event here], only stopping when I heard Ben cursing a blue streak. (This story also comes with the added joy of spending the rest of the vacation shouting “Arg, ye matey!” at Ben in his eye patch.)
But, I digress. In fact, I think I’ve digressed during my digression. This is what happens when you put a sleep-deprived writer/wife in front of a computer.
P.S – if any of you are in Kansas City – come and check me out next Friday (not THIS Friday, NEXT Friday) at this performance:
CRAZIE TOWN 