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LITTLE BODIES CAN
MAKE BIG NOISES |
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It’s one of two things. Either my wife is making a
conscious effort to kick me out of the bedroom, or else her body has been
invaded by aliens.
There are no other explanations. Nothing else makes sense.
You don’t just start snoring like a drunken sailor at her age. 115 pound
women can’t produce those sounds without something else going on.
If she’s trying to get rid of me, it’s not working.
As of this morning, I have yet to move to the living room couch or another
bedroom, as many couples do when faced with similar circumstances. And
there’s been many a morning when she wakes to see me looking over her,
chanting "Hell no, I won’t go! Hell no, I won’t go!"
But I don’t think she wants me out, anyway. I think
the aliens that invaded her body want me out. I’ve studied her sweet,
beautiful face while she sleeps, listening to the guttural, horrific
sounds emanating from her petite little body, and have only wondered what
miserable little creatures are living inside her.
That’s why I’m thinking of hiring a priest to come
over and do that exorcism thing. I’m tired of turning over in the middle
of the night expecting to see her head facing me and her body facing the
other direction. It hasn’t happened yet, but I’m sure it will.
This all began a couple of years ago. Until then, I was
the one who snored occasionally. My wife slept like a baby, never making a
sound. Then it began. I would nudge her gently, she would wake, and I
would announce in no uncertain terms that she was snoring like an
overweight 80 year old man.
"I am not snoring," she would sleepily reply.
"I didn’t hear anything."
"Let me explain," I’d answer. "YOU’RE
ASLEEP! You can’t hear yourself snore."
This went on for a couple of months. She refused to
believe she could be a snorer. Only when she woke up one morning to see me
with a tape recorder held above her, which I quickly replayed, did she
finally believe.
At first, we tried some basic remedies. I bought her
some Breathe-Right strips that you place on your nose to open the nasal
passage. A lot of professional football players wear them. Unfortunately,
there were two problems: 1) they didn’t work, and 2) I felt like I was
sleeping with Jerry Rice.
As the aliens inside her multiplied, and the gentle
nudgings in the middle of the night became more like shoves, it was clear
that the snoring wasn’t going to miraculously disappear (at least not
without a priest). It was time for me to take the next step—ear plugs.
I contacted the U.S. Air Force to see what the pilots of F-14
Tomcats wore. I couldn’t get an answer, so I tried the drug store
instead. I bought every style available, just in case I wanted to double
up.
That’s where we stand now. My wife drifts off to sleep and
I wait for the first bizarre noises to blast from her side of the bed.
Sometimes it takes three or four minutes, but come they will. I’ll give
her a good nudge, just for old time’s sake, and then I’ll reach for my
ear plugs.
As I lie awake fiddling with my ears to get the plugs just
right, I think about what it would cost to get a priest to do his exorcism
thing. I’m not a member of any church, so I doubt I’d get a freebie,
but who knows?
Then I start to think of ways to defray the cost. My wife
quite often likes to take short naps in the afternoon. If I could convince
her to take one every day at exactly 4:00, I could easily get $12.95 per
person for admission to our bedroom to hear noises that couldn’t
possibly come from a beautiful 115 pound woman.
It’s not a huge bedroom, but I could probably get 30 people
crowded around the bed. That’s $388.50 per concert, and if she’s
particularly tired, I might be able to get two shows per day
The only problem is that revenues might suffer because it
wouldn’t be appropriate to admit anyone under 18. Far too scary.
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