I just finished some yummy quesadillas which made me sleepy. I feel like I should go lie down, but in all honesty, I only ate five quesadilla triangles, and I slept late, so there shouldn’t be a reason as to why I’m so sleepy.
So, I thought maybe I’d write. I was trying to recapture the idea I had in the night. What was I going to write about? Oh, I thought it was a good idea at the time…
What was it?
I couldn’t remember.
A writer. With great ideas in the night.
That she can’t remember in the morning.
Could I be any more original?
I couldn’t remember UNTIL I remembered what actually happened in the night.
You see, I had a rough night’s sleep. Oh, you know how it goes. Could be any number of things. Mine happened to be The Mister.
Now, it’s time to share with you the intimate details of my marriage.
Sometimes, The Mister snores. My cat snores on my face sometimes. It tickles. We are not talking about cute kitty snores. He had a sleep study. They advised him to sleep on his side. They should have also advised him to sleep on his own side of the bed.
I believe I’ve mentioned how he can fall asleep anywhere, in any position, and how he’s particularly prone to falling asleep while snuggling?
I believe I’ve mentioned he’s hot?
Like a walking heating pad?
Like lift up the covers and get into bed with the human oven?
Yes. All these things are true.
Sometimes, while I am chopping vegetables, I am the sexiest woman alive. He’ll come up behind me and kiss on my neck, and one thing leads to another…and well, you know.
Sometimes, on a random Tuesday in January, when he comes to me in the kitchen, he will kiss my neck, and whisper something really hot into my ear, like, “I cannot wait to snuggle you.”
Oh yeah. That’s hot.
So I knew what I was in for when we went to bed last night. I perched at the edge of my side of the bed. I tossed the heavy duvet off, and waited…
Hotness. All up on my shit.
If you, too, are a hot, snuggly person, you should know that I am sometimes called “Ice Queen” or comments are made, alluding to my frozen heart. I promise, emotionally, I am a warm, loving person. Mostly. I’m very affectionate. Once I know you and stuff. Or if I’m drunk. I’m just not into being hot, and I hate to sweat, and even I hate the tingly feeling that comes right before I sweat. Okay, okay, I like to be cold. And distant. Often. But I’m not an ice queen.
It takes about five seconds for him to fall asleep.
I feel the flinch. It’s like his nigh-nigh switch.
It takes about five minutes before he snores in my face.
“Roll over. I cannot hear Jon Stewart anymore.”
He denies this.
He’ll say he’s not asleep. “I’m not even asleep, so how can I be snoring?!?”
So I let him build to a crescendo again, which means my back is starting to sweat, I take another route.
“Baby, I know you’re not sleeping and you can’t possibly be snoring, but loud noises are coming from your face. Could you please roll over?”
*Hmph. Huff. Fling.*
And then it’s quiet, and my back cools.
But last night? All night long, like a character trapped in a surreal play, I could not get The Mister to stop invading my space with his hot and loud.
“Honey, I can’t breathe when you snore into my nose!”
“Jesus Fuckin Christ! Get offa me! You’re making my hair sweat! I don’t even have blankets anymore!”
“Oh My Fucking God!” I sat up, ripped his pillow out from under his head, braced myself with my arms, and pushed his hips to his side of the bed with my legs.
“Imma build a fucking fence here!”
He didn’t even wake up.
I wanted to bat him about the head with that pillow, but I didn’t. Because Marine.
“I cannot sleep like this! All night you’re on me! All night with the snoring in my face! All night! All night! I don’t even know if I’ve slept!”
I swear he smirked. I could hear him smirk in the darkness.
That’s it. That’s what I was going to write about. I was going to write about how tortured I am by the hot, snoring man in my bed.
When I brought it up to him today, he seemed unfazed. Said he’s very attracted to me.