There was that one time when the husband tried to kill me with a gold fish. Or maybe he was trying to play with a gold fish (because we all know how playful gold fish are). Either way, the whole thing was bizarre, at best.
Most nights, sleeping with the husband is nothing short of adventurous. And I'm not talking the horizontal mambo kind of adventure. Not that our horizontal mamboing isn't adventurous. I just think, that for all parties involved, it'd be best if the details of the horizontal mamboing were kept private.
Those of you who have hung around these parts for awhile know the adventure I speak of is conversations I have with the husband while he is sleeping.
If the husband had a choice, he'd spend 23 hours of the day asleep. It's not that he's lazy, it's that our bed is so freaking amazing. No seriously. It is. It's like sleeping on a cloud of marshmallows. And cotton balls. And the magic of a thousand unicorns.
No matter how awake, how energized, how amped up on coffee, 5 hour energy and Red Bull he is, if he comes within the general vicinity of our bed, he passes out. Instantly.
|Yeah. He doesn't even make it in the bed.|
With so few hours of the day spent awake, it only stands to reason that the husband needs to accomplish things whilst asleep.
Although wrestling furniture and yelling at the t.v. top his list of activities to do during slumber, sometimes he settles for plain ol' conversation with me, his often freaked out and baffled wife.
Take, for example, the other night. I get into bed. He, of course, is already there. I start talking and he opens his eyes.
Me: I'm wearing your underwear. It was in my drawer.
(Yes, I sometimes wear the husband's underwear. Yes it is very large and I have to secure it with safety pins and binder clips and there is lots and LOTS of extra room, but still, I wear it.)
The husband: I know. I gave it to you.
The husband: There's a rip in it and it bothers me.
So far, this is making total sense. The underwear is, in fact, ripped. It doesn't even cross my mind that the husband isn't 100% awake. And then, this happens.
The husband: It's the blue and silver pair.
Me: There's no silver on this underwear, just blue.
The husband: No, my shoes.
Me: Shoes? What shoes?
The husband: My silver ones.
Me: You don't have silver shoes.
The husband: *sigh*
He's always sighing. As if I'm the one being illogical. He's a very impatient sleep-talker.
The husband: My sil-ver sho-es.
Thanks for the emphasis. It all makes sense now.
Me: Okay. So you have silver shoes and you gave them to me?
The husband:Yes. My silver tipped shoes.
This is where I stopped talking. Because if the husband owns shoes like this...
P.S. If you Google "silver tipped shoes" a bunch of pictures of shoes comes up, and also? This...