You guys know Nightmare on Elm Street right? The horror movie where Freddy Krueger invades your dreams and tries to kill you. The scary part, aside from those crazy-ass fingernails, is that if you die in your dream, you die in real life.
Well, I had my very own version of Nightmare on Elm Street two nights ago, except I wasn't asleep. I was awake and thought I was going to die. I'm not a death expert or anything, but I'm pretty sure if you die when you're awake, you die in real life. So naturally, I was effing terrified.
The star of this movie was not Freddy Krueger, it was The Husband.
I've told you how the husband often talks in his sleep, tries to warn you that "they" are on the ceiling, gets irritated when things aren't properly explained, molests bedroom furniture. All normal sleep behavior of your average adult, which, really, is hardly worth mentioning. I mean seriously, making out with a lamp? Who doesn't do that?
But the other night, the husband took things to a whole new level. Maybe he was just trying to get into the spirit of the upcoming ghosts and goblins holiday, but I wish he'd leave the scary movie acting to the professionals.
As usual, the husband fell asleep hours before I did. I finally turned off the t.v. around 2 a.m. after my brain could no longer handle the intellectual stimulation of The Jersey Shore.
As soon as I turned off the t.v. the husband started laughing. Now you should know the husband's laugh is one of the greatest sounds ever. Usually. It's hard to describe, exactly, but it's one of those contagious laughs that makes you want to laugh even if you don't know what he's laughing at. Simply put, his laugh is funny, and happy and makes birds sing and rainbows appear out of nowhere. Usually.
But the other night? It. Was. Evil.
Like a clown. A really evil clown. I have never heard anything so terrifying in my life. Not even in the most scary movie I have ever seen, which quite honestly is not very scary because scary movies make me crap my pants. And while I'm generally okay with pissing myself on the daily, I draw the line at crapping. It's called standards, people.
I didn't even ask the husband what he was laughing at or try to wake him up. I just froze in terror. I assumed he had been possessed by an evil clown, probably Stephen King's It, and I did not want to attract his attention.
I was still as I could be, hardly breathing, my heart thundering in my ears.
I felt his weight shift. I could not see him in the dark, but I knew he was leaning over the bed. Reaching for something.
I heard the rustling of paper. Maybe it was a candy wrapper. Or one of the four thousand receipts on his nightstand. Or perhaps it was notebook paper. Really though, the type of paper was inconsequential because there was no doubt in my mind he was fashioning it into a shiv.
The husband and I keep so much crap on on bedside tables there's enough material there to make a machete, or even a machine gun, or one of those army tanks with the big long canon looking arm thingies. He could have been making a whole arsenal of weapons...
I couldn't take it anymore. If I was going to die I was going to face death head on.
Me: What are you doing?!
The husband: Playing with your fish
Me: My fish?
The husband: You gomphph fish.
Me: My go fish?
The husband: Your gold fish.
Me: What gold fish?
The husband (exasperated): Never mind.
Of course! Gold fish!
Golly did I feel silly. The husband was just playing with our gold fish. I mean, we don't have a gold fish, or any kind of fish for that matter, but of course he was playing with it. After all, fish are one of the most playful pets one can have.
Normally, I would have kept talking to the husband to see what other ridiculous things I could get him to say.
But I wasn't entirely convinced he wasn't just "playing with my gold fish" to entice a larger, more dangerous fish...
Can I come sleep at your house?
In case anyone is wondering, the husband would NEVER hurt me. While I was slightly terrified at the time, it is NOT because I thought the husband was actually going to hurt me, not in his sleep, awake, accidentally or on purpose. Maybe, kinda, sorta, sometimes, I tend to have the dramatics. Everyone clear on this? Good.