Yet another of our ongoing points of contention, for those of you who are just getting to know us, is the subject of my husband’s snoring.
ME: Honey, you’re snoring (poke)
ME: You’re snoring.
HIM: Oh, okay (three second pause) is that better?
ME: (giggling) I love you!
HIM: Good thing, nobody else would
It’s important to note that in spite of my perfection I don’t hold others to impossible standards. For instance, just because I sleep like a Disney princess, that doesn’t mean that my husband isn’t entitled to some somnolent habits. Hell, I might even find the snoring cute if it wasn’t for one teeny little shriek-inducing frustration.
ME: Ugh, the snoring!
HIM: I don’t snore.
ME: Okay, but ya do.
HIM: Nope. I don’t snore.
ME: How would you know?!?!
Now, of course I’ve tried convincing him, both through eye-witness testimony and with actual physical evidence. I even recorded it once, barely suppressing my own smug giggles as I held my phone above our heads and envisaged the moment of my vindication. Then I fell asleep, lulled by the oscillating roar beside me, and forgot about the recording until, about a week later, we were at a dinner party with some fans of ACWMH who especially enjoyed the ongoing saga of The Snoring.
HIM: I don’t snore
ME: Ooh, I… I have PROOF! (whips out phone)
HIM: You RECORDED it?!
ME: (triumphantly stabbing at the screen) So THERE!
HIM: (shakes head) All that proves is that you slept with someone who snores.
HIM: (walking away) And we’ll talk about THAT later.
Do you see what happened there? Do you see what he did?!?!
ME: Hey, you up?
ME: I can’t sleep.
HIM: Me either.
ME: Really? Because the reason I can’t sleep is that someone’s been snoring like a damned lumber mill for the last hour.
HIM: Really? Huh.
ME: (plots murder)
Let’s set aside for a moment the fact that in sleep I resemble an angel. Ignore the fact that my lips press together in an endearing moue, that my breath is a mere whisper and my hair falls perfectly across the pillow (my morning breath also smells exactly like fresh apple pie, in case you wondered). Because this isn’t about the snoring itself, or any comparison one might be tempted to draw between a mortal man and his shockingly perfect mate.
ME: Please stop snoring
HIM: I’m trying
(he never remembers these conversations in the morning, of course)
This is about the trap he has neatly set, in which any – perfectly reasonable! – complaint I might register becomes the sharp-toned ravings of a lunatic. I am left to either endure in patience and silence (a thing which is only possible on nights when the cacophonous score of his sinus orchestra couldn’t be heard over, say, an invasion of black helicopters) or wake him to beg for peace and face his fiction.
HIM: (snoring so loud the animals have fled the bedroom)
ME: Roll over
HIM: (no movement, continues to snore)
ME: (poke) ROLL. OVER
HIM: (begins to move) okay… what’s this for?
ME: Health and Safety.
HIM: What, your mental health and my safety? Because I’m snoring too loud?
HIM: Even though I don’t snore?
ME: Yes. Thank you for understanding
But what really winds me up? What really drives me to lose my impressive self-control and wish for him to be infested by some sort of heretofore-undiscovered brain mite that could render him catatonic for 22 hours a day? Those times when he admits it, and then he takes it back.
ME: (fed up with his snoring right in my damned ear, I liberally apply elbow to rib)
ME: Roll over!
HIM: Thank you.
ME: … uh…
HIM: it was starting to wake ME up
ME: You’re welcome. So you admit that you were snoring?
HIM: I admit nothing. I’m asleep.
At least we had that talk, and he no longer gets mean about it…
HIM: (snoring so loud the neighbors’ dogs have asked to borrow my ear plugs)
ME: (poke) Honey? You’re snoring, please roll over.
HIM: (continues to do his lumber mill impression)
ME: Sweetie, please.
HIM: (enraged roar) WHAT?!?! WHAT THE HELL, I WAS ALMOST ASLEEP AND YOU’RE WAKING ME UP! DAMMIT!
ME: (drily) You’ve been snoring for hours.
HIM: I don’t snore! Now I’ll never get back to sleep!
ME: (closes eyes for a moment)
HIM: (resumes snoring)
(he never remembered any of those, either. Because of course he talks in his sleep.)
Gentle reader, I love this man with all my heart; I would trade him for no other. But if, perchance, one night he were to meet his end through suffocation, his own pillow forced down his goddamned ever-vibrating throat, well…. you’ll all testify on my behalf, yeah? Justified. Totally justified.
ME: Oh, good you’re already in bed! I was worried that I’d have to hunt you down and drag you in for snuggles.
HIM: I’m trying to rest. I plan to do a lot of snoring very soon, and you’re just going to interrupt.
ME: … Seriously?!?! You’re trying to claim SNORING as prior plans?
ME: You know, last night I asked you – very politely – to stop snoring and you said, “I’m trying to”
HIM: I don’t snore
ME: (stunned silence)
Incidentally, my cat snores too. But it’s an adorable little noise, like a mouse.
ME: Awww! He’s snoring, listen.
HIM: That’s not snoring, that’s just breathing.
ME: No, HIS snore is just little and cute.
HIM: That’s not snoring… I should show you what snoring is some time.
HIM: But I don’t snore
ME: (muffled screaming into pillow)
HIM: (laughing) When you post this, you’ll have to type in that you screamed into a pillow.
ME: (death glare)