Keris Stainton‘s weekly column on married life…
Last night I dreamed I was being attacked by bees. Buzzzzzzzzzzz. Buzzzzzzzzzzz. Buzzzzzzzzzzz.
They kept on coming, dive-bombing me, seemingly furious and desperate to get me. I flailed about to get away from them and then one smacked me right in the face and I woke up. And yet…
Zzzzzzzzzzzzz. Zzzzzzzzzzzzz. Zzzzzzzzzzzzz. I could still hear the buzzing.
It was David snoring. The thing about snoring – when David does it, I mean; I’m sure it’s not half as annoying when I do it – is that by the time it’s woken me up, it’s already annoyed the hell out of my subconscious, so once I become consciously aware of it I’m abso-bloody-lutely furious.
Last night, when I realised the bees were actually David’s sinuses, my first thought was, “I’ll kill you while you sleep.” I shoved him, he grunted, I dozed again. The snoring woke me up. “I’ll smother you with your pillow!” I shoved him again, he grunted, I shoved harder, he grunted, I gave him an almighty two-handed shove while hissing, “Roll over! You’re snoring!” “God’s sake,” he whined. But he rolled.
David’s snoring isn’t actually that bad. Most nights he doesn’t snore at all. He only snores when he’s got a cold, is especially tired or when he’s drunk. In fact, he’s started sleeping downstairs on the sofa bed after he’s been out on the beers, because his drunken snorings are even more annoying than his sober ones (and he’s not quite so receptive to rolling over).
Since he generally only snores when he’s lying on his back, fastening a golf ball into the back of his t-shirt seems to work, although he’s prone to sneaking it out and hoping I won’t notice (and the golf ball, boom boom!).
You know the romance has gone out of your relationship when the prospect of more snoring makes you contemplate separate beds … in separate rooms … but we’re at the stage now where we just want a good night’s sleep! Thankfully, neither of us snores enough to move out yet, but we can see it in our future. Who knew?