This thing where he runs out of snoring strips and forgets to buy more is unacceptable. We need a subscription service or something.
And while we’re at it, if we could get someone to come ‘round every night and slap one of those bad boys on his face, that’d be great, because he keeps trying to sneak into bed without one, like I won’t notice and that’ll somehow prove that he doesn’t snore.
Which. He. Totally. Does.
I would play the audio for you, but I’ve been specifically prohibited from doing so. By the man who claims I have no such evidence. You see it, right? “Hah, I don’t snore and you can’t prove that I do… no, don’t play any recordings of me at night, that’s not cool. See, you can’t prove that I snore! I win!”
Also, I seem to have taken a lot of heat for calling his cat stupid. Here’s the thing: she’s really stupid.
I am not making this up. I love her, but she’s dumber than your average garden gnome.
ME: You know, I told a story in which I called your sister out as a pants-on-her-head moron, and these people were fine with it. But I casually mention that fat, stupid cat is, you know, stupid, and they’re losing their shit.
HIM: You should do a whole post about the stupid things she does. It’s funny, ‘cuz she’s cute.
ME: No, it’s not “cute” when she runs into the bathroom with me in the morning and then freaks out.
HIM: IT USED TO BE A HALLWAY!! She doesn’t understand doors, that’s not her fault!
Seriously, this is a thing that happens almost every morning. We kick the cats out at night because she’s stupid and gets lost and confused and this wakes us up, but she usually sneaks back in sometime in the morning. There are two doors in our bedroom, and she cannot, for the life of her, remember which one leads to the hallway and which one leads to the bathroom. So she’ll sit outside the bathroom door while I shower, crying and scratching at the door, wanting Husband to let her “out.” I open the door when I’m done, and she races in, crashing into the shower or the toilet or whatever, and then freaks out, becoming a dangerous cyclone of fur and claws until she finds her way back out and under the bed. I get dressed and open the hall door, and eventually she comes out and finds the hall again, convinced that the house changes just to torture her.
Her actual name, if you must know, is Harm. Because when we were naming her, she stupidly pounced something without thinking it through and it set off a chain reaction that caused many injuries. So we’ve had to train the other animals to stay out of Harm’s way.
ME: (wakes to sound of cat crying helplessly at the wrong door)
HIM: (snoring loudly)
ME: (staggers out of bed to let cat out)
HIM: (snores on, rudely unaware)
ME: (pokes him awake) Honey, you left the stupid cat in.
HIM: Mngkfgl… SNRKKKKK (resumes snoring)
ME: (pokes again) And you didn’t put your strip on, or lock the door, or anything.
HIM: THEY GET REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE, OKAY??
ME: (glaring) I am going to remind you of this in the morning, and if you don’t remember…
He didn’t, of course. He never does. I don’t know why I even bother with that threat.
He did, however, come up with a novel “solution” to the problem.
ME: Wake. Up.
ME: I have no idea how you’ve managed it, but your feet are louder than your face.
HIM: I’m trying!
ME: Yeah. I rolled over to smother you, but your feet were up here and your head was all the way down there.
ME: (was not kidding)