Pages

Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

26 January 2012

Sweet mystery of life, at last I've found you...

I dread going to bed for one reason, and one reason only:

Dan.


Back off, girls.  He's MINE.



You know how some couples love to cuddle up together in bed at night, falling asleep wrapped in each other's arms?  Their hearts beat in perfect harmony as they inhale and exhale in unison, sharing dreams of puppies and kittens and moonlit walks on the beach while visions of sugarplums dance in their heads.  


What the fuck ever.

Dan and I are SO not that couple.

Well, actually DAN kind of is.

Okay, *I* am so not that couple.



We're THIS couple.


I love my husband.  I do.  He has many wonderful qualities that I fail to mention because, let's face it:  His negative qualities are much more interesting (and there are so many more of them to choose from) than his positive qualities.  Plus, I'm kind of an asshole.  (There is that.)  But he really is, for the most part, a pretty good guy.  He works hard, he loves me, he loves my kids, he loves our pets, he's good to his mama and papa, he puts gas in my car and opens jars and he's tall, so he can reach the high places that I don't feel like climbing up to.  He carries everything that ever needs to be carried that is heavier than my purse and on more than one occasion has toted my fluffy black Pomeranian through airports, football fields, tourist attractions, into restaurants, and through stores in a pink and brown Juicy Couture pet carrier.

Fluffy little dog.

Pink pet carrier.

Yes, he carried that.

And he did it without complaining.



Real men carry Juicy.
Yes, it was THAT pet carrier.  Exactly.  Only filled with a tiny fluffy little purse dog.  

Willingly.

Because I didn't feel like carrying it.

Because it was heavier than my purse.

Yes, I AM that kind of spoiled.  What's your point?
Okay, so blah blah blah, Dan is wonderful.  Moving right along...


He's also pretty sexy, no?


And then he falls asleep.

And then?

I want him dead.

Not DEAD dead, just not able to breathe.  For at least 8 hours.  

Dan looooves to cuddle up next to me in bed, wrapping his big ol' arms around me, pressing his face against my neck and mumbling sweet nothings for the 2.2 seconds that it takes him to fall asleep.  It's like:

Dan:  *practically purring as his head lands gently on the pillow*  "MMmm... night baby... I luh..." *HONK SNOOOOOOOOOORE!!  HONK SNOOOOOOOOORE!!!*

Me:  *elbowing the shit out of his rib cage*  "MOVE OVER!  YOU'RE SNORING!!"

Dan:  *purrrrrrrrrr*  *HONKKKK SNOOOOOOOOOOORE!!!  HONK SNOOOOOOOOORE!!!*

Me:



And that's my night.

The man SNORES.  And DROOLS.  And FARTS.  And HOGS THE BED.  And CLAWS ME WITH HIS DISGUSTING, RAGGED TOE NAILS.  And STEALS THE COVERS.  And BREATHES, GODDAMMIT!!  HE WON'T STOP BREATHING!!!

And it all  JUST PISSES ME OFF.

He lies in bed, smiling and dreaming and making little happy noises in between gurgles, farts, gasps, grunts, and snores while rivers of drool pour out of the corner of his mouth...

Don't EVEN get me started on the drooling.


Actually, it IS the snoring.  AND the drool.  



Meanwhile, I'm lying next to him, clinging to the edge of the mattress like it's a freaking lifeboat and I've just been shoved off of the Titanic, trying to get comfortable in the 6 square inches of bed that he's left for me, plotting his demise.  

Muu-wah. Ha. Haaaa.

And how I can get away with it.

Plan A:  Don't post your evil intentions on blogger.

Plan B:  Don't post your evil intentions in a status update on Facebook.

Plan C:  Smother him with a pillow and plead insanity.


It was the CAT!  The CAT did it!



I think I need to get a cat.